


Only For One Man

by TamerLorika



Series: Rebuild, but Not Replace [1]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Bears, But not too slow because im super impatient okay, Canonical Character Death, Found Family, Grief/Mourning, I WROTE THIS BEFORE HIDDEN WORLD AND I AM VINDICATED, M/M, Slow Burn, Trauma from the outside, and maybe love too, but very slowly, enemies to Vikings, eret unearths secrets, how eret might learn to live among the Berkians, that have been kept so long everyone forgets they were woven into the fabric of berk, that's a thing right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-05-27 17:22:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 28,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15029489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TamerLorika/pseuds/TamerLorika
Summary: Eret, Son of Eret, has been welcomed into the village of Berk and given the care of the dead chief's dragon. He doesn't realize how awkward that might be until his old ship has sailed off far beyond the horizon, leaving him far behind.For an outsider, secrets that are well-hidden seem obvious in the light of day. Things that Berk thought long-buried are brought to light, sometimes kicking and screaming.Eret just wanted to integrate into his new home. He didn't expect his definition of 'home' to center around more than a place, but a person.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know literally no one asked for it and at least three people were actively begging me not to do it, but this is the reason I haven't updated FFtB. This turned into an almost-novel-length piece, and I'm almost completely done.
> 
> Shit fuck I wasn't gonna do this, but S is a fucking inspiration and so even though I'm not totally done with it, I'm starting posting a chapter a week and I WILL finish it. I realize that neither of these relationship tags have been used ever before--I'm sorry for that too. Forgive me, fandom.

Skullcrusher was whimpering in his sleep. For such a large beast, he could make a truly pathetic noise—but Eret, son of Eret, knew that fact better than almost anyone on the island. After all, it was _him_ causing those sounds, often-as-not.

 

At least, it had been. But Eret lived on Berk, now.

 

Tonight, Skullcrusher thrashed in the grip of the same dream that he must have dreamed so many times over. The huge dragon tossed and pawed like a hound, as he had for every night of the seven-day that Eret had taken up residence in the village of Berk.

 

Eret was starting to get worried. He’d known—or at least assumed—that recovery would be as rough on Skullcrusher as on any of the dragon on the island save, perhaps, the uncanny Nightfury. He’d expected Skullcrusher to take time to get used to him, and their new surroundings. They were both sleeping in the stables right now. Eret sure as hel wasn’t sleeping in the Chief’s home—former home—but he wasn’t keen on uprooting his new charge too dramatically, either. Hiccup had told him that Skullcrusher had preferred to sleep in the outdoor stables. Clean straw, a solid roof, and a warm dragon were much better accommodations than Eret had been used to in recent years. It was no hardship to bunk here for a bit, and leave the new chief to his empty house and quiet mourning.

 

The downside, however, were the ringside seats to Skullcrusher’s heartbreak. Eret had tried waking the dragon before, but he wasn’t keen on the snapping and bellowing that had come from that. Skullcrusher had seemed fine during the day; surely he should have calmed his sleep by now?

 

Eret would admit that, for all that he knew dragons—their habits and tells, how to stalk or manipulate one—he knew precious little in the way of soothing them.

 

Skullcrusher shuffled in his sleep, shivering violently, and flailed just a little too close for comfort to where Eret had bedded down. Eret sprang to his feet without thought, then immediately felt embarrassed. Well, maybe he was a tad bit on a hair trigger as well.

 

There was no getting back to sleep now, not while Skullcrusher was like this. So Eret shrugged on his vest and set out to walk a bit.

 

Berk at night was a chiaroscuro of contradiction. Even asleep, the village itself absolutely teemed with life. For every wooden longhouse, there was a family of humans and one of dragons. The stables were full, as were the roosts, and the dragons that had flocked to Toothless’ power were spilling out of town to the cliffs and rocky beaches below.

 

For all the life, however, and for all the light of hearth-fires and dragon-fires in every window, there was the other side. In the quiet stillness of the dead of night, Berk _dripped_.

 

The shards of ice that had blown the village apart still bloomed from the wreckage of buildings, edges blunted but blasted shape still visible. Eret was not the poetic sort, but there was a fine line between recognizing poetry and recognizing omen.

 

He wandered without destination, hoping to wait out both his insomnia and his dragon’s. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure _where_ he could go, or what was neutral ground. The rock beaches were out. That masked rider, the Valkyrie, had taken up residence there among the flock and Eret knew she roamed it at all hours, as shiftless as the beasts that she called her flock. Eret knew also that ascending the crags was a bad idea at this time and with this light. The island held plenty of natural dangers besides her wildlife.

 

Instead, he made a slow circuit of the village proper, trying to catch himself from wincing at stray dragon-sounds. As he emerged down the hill from the Great Hall, one of the lookout cliffs resolved its shape out of the blackness, and Eret headed toward it for something to do.

 

It was only the muffled jingle of a harness that warned him that he wasn’t the first to ascend the prominence that night. The Nightfury did not as much blend into the dark as embody it, and it— _he—_ coiled seamlessly around Chief Hiccup as they both stared out into the crashing seas.

 

Eret knew already the kinds of watchfulness that sprang, unprompted, to mind in the night, and thought to leave the pair to their vigil, but the spook of a dragon had already heard his soft approach and tilted his head at him. The Chief raised his hand to beckon Eret closer.

 

“Rough night?” Eret murmured as he obeyed. He did not fancy the wait for Hiccup to speak first.

 

Hiccup exchanged a look with the dragon and shrugged. “Not so bad as you might think,” Hiccup finally replied. “You’re looking pretty rough, though.”

 

Eret grimaced and fought the urge to smooth his hair. “Didn’t think to tidy myself up any.”

 

Hiccup tilted his head in acknowledgement. “You know, the offer to stay in the longhouse wasn’t an empty invitation. Toothless and I would be more than happy to have you.”

 

Eret shook his head. “That’s not it. Skullcrusher’s restless. I thought at first it was the normal kind but—well, it’s starting to worry me.”

 

The thing about Hiccup that Eret had noticed almost immediately was that he took everyone so seriously. He peered now at Eret, eyes flashing in the moonlight as he contemplated.

 

“You’d know better than anyone here if he’s sick or if he’s just…I don’t know, sad…” Eret trailed off.

 

Hiccup shook his head. “I’d say you know better than you think you do. And I’m happy to look at him, but I think you need to talk to Gobber.”

 

“Gobber?” Eret had seen the man around but had not yet spoken to him. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but not a dragon genius. He couldn’t even get a Hotburple to listen to him.

 

“He specializes in physical ailments of dragons,” Hiccup shrugged. “I’d tell you to ask my mom instead, but—“

 

“No, no. I’ll talk to Gobber in the morning,” Eret hurried to assure him. Besides the cruelty of bringing the woman’s deceased husband’s dragon to her for aid, there was also the small matter of their incredibly tenuous detente. Neither had quite gotten around to forgiving the other for the instance of the blown-apart base. He would probably have to work on that.

 

_In the morning, though_ , he thought as a particularly violent yawn split his face.

 

“Think it’s time to head back,” Eret muttered. He made to turn, but Hiccup and his dragon didn’t move. “You?”

 

Hiccup just waved his hand in the stillness. “In a moment. You go on back; hopefully you get some sleep. If not, Gobber makes a strong butter tea.”

 

If the Chief slept or not wasn’t any of Eret’s business, so he didn’t argue further, just took the dismissal for what it was and slipped into the stable a few minutes later. Skullcrusher had indeed settled, but every shift he made on the straw caused Eret to tense anyway. He succumbed to exhaustion almost an hour later, and know he would be taking the Chief’s advice in the morning. This couldn’t last much longer.

 

* * *

 

 

Eret came to in the morning to Skullcrusher again, this time awake and in a playful mood. He rested his huge head on Eret’s bare stomach and blew hot air, sagging open his jaw in a grin as Eret woke with an affectionate groan.

 

“Yeah, good morning,” Eret said softly, digging his fingers under the Rumblehorn’s neckplate for a quick scratch. Skullcrusher made a series of pleased noises before, at Eret’s hand signal, wandering off to find his breakfast. Eret watched in a familiarly muted awe, surprised as he was every morning that, just at a motion from him, such a beast would be commanded.

 

_No, not commanded_ , Eret thought, hunching his shoulders at the brief and unwelcome intrusion of Drago into his thoughts. What had Hiccup and the others told him? _Partners_. And partners took care of each other, which was exactly what Eret meant to do.

 

It wasn’t as easy as that, of course. Although the sun had just begun to rise over the island, that meant next to nothing in a northern winter. The fierce woman on the Nadder, Astrid, was organizing rebuilding crews on their sturdiest dragons. She waved Eret over as soon as she saw him emerge in the center of town, dismounting Stormfly to shove Eret bodily in the direction she wanted him. The Nadder happily hemmed him in on his other side, nuzzling violently at his face and shoulder. He blew a raspberry against her cheek, hoping it was stealthy.

 

“Eat—porridge is in the pot there—then you’re on ground-spotting crew. You can hold a hammer, right?” Astrid demanded.

 

Eret could indeed hold a hammer, and was up and down trestles all morning. It was good work, and the conversation was interesting enough—not that anyone was talking to _him_. No one was rude, of course; not really. ‘Wary’ was a better word, like animals that had been bitten once and weren’t quite sure if they were willing to risk it again. Eret knew how to exist in that kind of environment. When Drago’s crews would come together, the same quiet distrust buffered the groups there as well.

 

A few hours into his work, he noticed a small commotion across the yard. “He’s over there,” Astrid said somewhere beneath where he was perched on the wooden bones of a new longhouse, securing roof-beams as they were flown down by two eager Nightmares. She appeared to be pointing at Eret. Glancing down, Eret saw with no small amount of satisfaction that Skullcrusher had meandered his way over and did, indeed, seem to be looking for him.

 

The reaction of the other Vikings was hard to watch, though. At the dragon’s approach, their backs straightened, and their eyes lit—only to slump and dim but a moment later, when they remembered who Skullcrusher was here for now. Eret found himself recoiling from what he was sure everyone thought to be _surreptitious_ glances.

 

Skullcrusher, however, had no such delusions of subtlety. He had already caught sight, or perhaps scent, of Eret, and was trundling across the construction to get there. Normally aware of his bulk, the dragon seemed to be having some issues getting around the pylons. He brushed un-gently against several; most took the buffeting with grace, a testament to the craftsmanship of the Viking architects.  A few, however, shuddered as Skullcrusher passed, upsetting any people or planking balanced on top.

 

“Hey, hey, easy now, I’m coming down,” Eret told the dragon seriously, aware he was well and truly the center of attention now. He skidded down his own pylon, but Skullcrusher kept coming blithely. “Easy now.” He thought he heard Astrid scoff, but it was that moment that Skullcrusher hit a pylon particularly hard, and the planking balanced above shuddered, then fell.

 

Eret didn’t actually remember moving—one moment he was next to the pylon; the next he was at Skullcrusher’s side and his right arm was throbbing in a hot, concentrated pain. He’d thrown it over his and Skullcrusher’s head, shielding them both from the worst of the falling debris. His bicep was slashed open, but he could already tell that it wasn’t a deep cut, just a messy one. He was more worried about the dazed look on the Rumblehorn’s face—at least one plank had gotten around Eret’s arm and had dug directly into the neck-plating behind the dragon’s horns. The wound was bleeding sluggishly, and Eret couldn’t figure out how deep it was from sight alone.

 

Astrid appeared in moments, snapping interrogatives. “Why did you do that? Rumblehorns have the thickest skulls around; you didn’t need to risk yourself like that. Now you’re hurt for no reason—don’t you know anything?”

 

Eret _knew_ that Astrid was to be feared, and he tried not to look intimidated when he pointed at Skullcrusher’s wound. “Apparently, they’re not invulnerable.”

 

“Oh, Thor,” Astrid cursed softly. “Alright, fair.” She whistled, and Stormfly came trotting up, chirping in concern. Astrid looked at Eret. “Can you get him to stay still? I’ll go get Gobber.” She turned to Stormfly without waiting for an answer. “You, go get Gothi.”

 

“I’m fine—“

 

Stormfly let out a screech that drowned out Eret’s protest and took off. Astrid had run the other direction, waving off questions from the other Vikings.

 

Somewhat spooked, Eret ran his hands over a dazed Skullcrusher’s front flanks. _Keep him still_ , Astrid had told him. “It’s alright,” he told the dragon, gingerly tightening his grip on its shoulder, as if that would have helped if Skullcrusher was feeling fractious.

 

Thankfully—or really, rather worryingly—Skullcrusher didn’t seem inclined to move at all.

 

“It’s going to be alright,” Eret repeated, this time more earnestly.

 

One of the Vikings, the companion of the man in the bucket helmet, clapped Eret on the shoulder, but no one said much until the sound of uneven footsteps were audible across the half-frozen ground.

 

“Skullcrusher!”

 

The voice was even more heavily-accented than the rest of the Vikings’, and was accompanied by a stumbling cannonball of a man who rushed immediately to the dragon’s side.

 

“Now what trouble’d you get yourself into this time,” Gobber demanded, pawing over the Rumblehorn’s face and plating, checking his pupils. The dragon made some sort of answering noise, and Gobber gave him a pat, but the tense set of his shoulders didn’t relax. He went to work at the huge splinter in the dragon’s hide, keeping up a litany of soothing one-sided conversation as he did. Skullcrusher reacted affectionately to his presence, rubbing against him as he worked.

 

“None o’that now, friend, and can someone tell me _what in Helheim happened here?!_ ” The last was bellowed out hotly at the assembled Vikings. Gobber’s voice had dropped from friendly to furious in a moment, and he glared around at the assembled crew. Quickly, Gobber’s eyes locked on Eret—the outsider with blood sheeting own his arm, the wayward guardian of the dead chief’s dragon.

 

“What did ye _do_ tae him?” Gobber demanded. He stumped over to Eret, crowding into his space with an immoveable denseness, eyes sparking and uneven face twisted into a snarl. “I knew a former dragon-trapper would be trouble from the start, regardless of what young Hiccup may believe. It’s a shame Skullcrusher didn’t finish the goring he started on yer arm there.”

 

Eret had, in all honesty, expected this reaction. He knew what it looked like, and there was no arguing with angry men sometimes, not like this. He didn’t say a word to defend himself, just stared down at the man who looked fit to gouge out his eyeballs with his hook. Eret shifted slightly, wondering if he was going to have a fight on his hands.

 

Unexpectedly, he didn’t have to find out.

 

“Now Gobber, it weren’t his fault at all!” the man with the bucket—did the whole village really just call him Bucket?—broke in. “You know how Skullcrusher gets, all big and stompy and thinkin’ he’s a wee little sheepie. He got into trouble all on his own.”

 

Gobber whirled, clearly not assuaged in the least and ready to tear into the newcomer as well, but Bucket’s companion—Mulch, Eret remembered—stepped in too.

 

“Eret here got himself torn up _defendin’_ him,” he corroborated.

 

Gobber huffed. He glared at Mulch for a few extra seconds, then ignored them all completely and went back to inspecting Skullcrusher.

 

Eret waved his hand in an awkward gesture of thanks to his new friends—at least, he hoped they might be friends—and awaited Gobber’s verdict. He was interrupted, however, by the arrival of Gothi and Stormfly. Although he protested at the thought of medical treatment beyond his own tending for a wound that shallow, Gothi was surprisingly forceful for a woman so silent. Whatever debriding she was doing was not gentle, and the first wrap of the bandage was soaked through fast. The second mostly held, though, but for some spotting, and then the woman was scribbling furiously in the dirt with her staff.

 

Eret stared at her helplessly, trying to interpret the sigils she was inscribing. Gothi caught his expression, sighed, and whacked Gobber on the shin with staff to get his attention.

 

When Gobber turned, it was with resigned irritation, but even that morphed into extreme coldness as he read the meaning in the dirt.

 

“She says tae change the bandage when it soaks through, or every meal, whichever comes first, and wash it well between,” Gobber muttered bad-temperedly. “Ow!” He winced at a whack to his good shoulder. “ _I was getting’ there, ye terror_. She says if’n it starts tae ache, you can come get some whitewillow— _now wait a minute, woman, I know you’re out of that—what do ye mean, ‘I have some’, I’m all out too—ow!—yes, I am—ow! No, I’m no’ lyin’—Gothi, I’m done, get Mulch to work on his translatin’.”_

 

The conversation had quickly devolved into a one-sided argument between Gobber and his stick-wielding nemesis, and ended with Gobber stumping off in a huff. The whole construction sight watched him go, looking nonplussed.

 

“Well, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him get angry like _that_ before.” Astrid had slipped back at some point, and was narrowing her eyes at Gobber’s retreat.

 

Eret thought to explain that he hadn’t started it, but he was surprised to realize that no one had actually leveled the accusation at him. They were all watching Gobber go with various expressions of concern, as if he had been set off without reason.

 

Eret turned back to Skullcrusher, who was shaking his great head ponderously.

 

“Did he say if Skullcrusher was alright?” Eret asked. Astrid, Gothi, and Mulch all traded looks and shrugged.

 

“By the _stars_ ,” Eret sighed.

 

Something was clearly going on with Gobber, more than just hating the new blood. If it were any other occasion, Eret would employ the same tactic as he did under Drago’s employ—keep his head down and avoid the man like the plague.

 

But this was different; it was Skullcrusher's well-being he defended now. How many times had he provoked Drago’s ire in place of one of his men? He rubbed his left pectoral, steeling himself. This was no different, and from what he saw of Berk, the danger wasn’t nearly so great. He could easily handle a bit of a shout. And he needed to know what to do about Skullcrusher. The dragon was _his_ responsibility.

 

“Are you able to keep an eye on him?” Eret asked Astrid. She didn’t smile, but nodded with a seriousness that was somehow friendly. Eret took off in the direction that Gobber had disappeared in.

 

Despite the fact that the man didn’t look like he’d be much of sprinter, Gobber moved fast, and Eret took a lot longer to find him than he wanted. Instead of somewhere expected, like his forge or his hut, Eret found him pacing the deep-water boardwalk down by the harbor. He wasn’t saying anything aloud, but seemed to be having a conversation with himself anyway, opening his mouth and raising his hand performatively before stopping and letting it fall.

 

Eret wasn’t optimistic about his welcome, so he cut right to the chase.

 

“Is Skullcrusher alright?” he bellowed as he strode down the wooden structure toward Gobber. “Will he be okay?”

 

“Oh, aye, besides the gigantic _spike_ through his neck?” Gobber volleyed back without pause, pulling up his pacing to whirl on Eret as he approached.

 

“Yes, besides that!” Eret snapped, stopping just short of swinging distance—maybe for his safety, and maybe for Gobber’s. He let the concern and frustration he’d felt since last night bubble out of him. “You stormed off without even telling me how he was! I just—I need to know how to take care of him.”

 

Abruptly, Gobber froze, and he regarded Eret with a strange look that quickly softened into something less angry and more sad.

 

“Right, that I did, didn’t I?” Gobber acknowledged, turning his blue gaze somewhere over Eret’s shoulder. “He’s just fine, n’ I see you might have a bit to do with tha’.”

 

Eret pulled up short mentally and blinked hard, trying to process the abrupt change in temperament. He must have taken too long to say something, because Gobber barreled on. “I was just scared a minute. You know. Skullcrusher is…” Gobber shook his head sharply. “He’s a good’n, and deserves good things.” It sounded like an apology, one Eret hadn’t been expecting.

 

“Do I need to do anything for his wound?” he pressed, scrambling to regain his equilibrium.

 

Gobber made a considering noise. “Ah doubt it. Keep an eye on it, o’course, but dragons are good at keepin’ that sort of thing clean all on their own. He’ll recover from the shock in a few hours, he’s a tough one. Nothin’ to worry about, really.”

 

Eret did not realize that he _had_ been so worried until the relief made his knees weak.

 

Gobber narrowed his eyes and huffed. “Alright, I was a mite harsh with you. Seems you care about the beastie a wee bit at least.” The words were just shy of grudging. “How about this—come up and I’ll treat ye to an ale tonight.”

 

Eret hadn’t expected _that_ at all.

 

“And none o’that Great Hall dreck, either,” Gobber carried on, oblivious to the upset he caused. He strode past Eret as if that was that, clapping him hard on the shoulder as he passed. It was firm enough to sway Eret a bit, which hadn’t happened to him much since he hit puberty. “I brew my own. Meet me at my cabin tonight and I’ll show you a real Viking brew.” And then he was away, fully assuming Eret’s agreement.

 

Eret stood facing the churning sea a long moment, not sure exactly where he stood in the emotional dragon-ride of a day.

 

Then he cursed. He’d forgotten to ask about Skullcrusher’s nightmares.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Consent is sexy.

It was long after nightfall when the work was finished for the day. Eret had been living in the north for several years now, but the lack of sun in the winter would always get to him. He briefly spared a thought for his own home, deep, deep south of the Equatorial Line—then quickly throttled that thought with a practiced hand, knowing it would bring nothing good.

 

Skullcrusher had, indeed, shaken off the events of that morning with a grumbling good grace, and seemed content to shadow Eret across the village as he headed toward the cabin on the far side of the cluster of homes.

 

Grump, Gobber’s Hotburple companion, was snoring happily as he sprawled half-across Gobber’s doorway, but he seemed to perk up at Skullcrusher’s approach and even raised to his feet briefly to nose at the other dragon. This had the added benefit of removing him from Eret’s way to the front door and Eret took the opportunity as it was offered, heading off a rising and unexpected instinct to bolt that both baffled and electrified him.

 

Crushing it ruthlessly, he meant to pound on the door, but it was already slightly ajar, so he pushed his way inside instead.

 

A strange tableaux presented itself. Gobber had his arm tankard on and was in the midst of gesticulating wildly regardless. His face was relaxed, but his shoulders were tense, making his movements even jerkier than what Eret thought to be normal for him.

 

That wasn’t the unusual part. The other two occupants of the small living area were Cloudjumper and Valka, each as wild as the other. Cloudjumper was hanging upside-down from the rafters, as much like a bat as Eret had ever seen. Valka was seated at the table—for some definition of ‘seated’. She was actually half-crouched on the chair, weight on one of her heels and her sit-bones, one foot dangling, hunched over her tankard like it might either be stolen or perhaps knocked away. Despite her strange pose, however, she looked relaxed—at least until Eret walked in. As soon as he did, her shoulders hunched and her back arched like a startled cat, angling immediately toward Cloudjumper who, for his part, dropped gracefully to the ground and stood at her side.

 

Eret’s nerves weren’t much better. He hadn’t talked to the woman—Hiccup’s mother, the dead chief’s widow—since she had exploded his ship. And yes, he knew and could even agree with _why_ , but that hadn’t changed the fact that one of the ice shards had fractured Lars’ leg, and another had fallen from above and cut open Agatha’s forehead. His crew had kept him alive throughout Drago’s reign; it was his responsibility to do the same for them, and anyone who worked at cross-purposes to that was not anyone he would ever truly like. He had an inkling that she felt the same way about him.

 

“Eret, ye’re here!” Gobber crowed, and Eret estimated that this wasn’t his first tankard.

 

“I—“ _wasn’t aware I had a choice,_ his brain supplied, “—can come back if this isn’t a good time.”

 

“No, I’m leaving,” Valka said, standing abruptly and sending her chair toppling. She winced and almost overbalanced, but caught herself on the table. “Whoo-ah!” she turned to Gobber. “Did that get stronger?”

 

Gobber grinned at her. “Twenty years without ale’ll send any Viking tae their knees. You’ll acclimate.”

 

She shot him a fond look. “I’ll have to, if I’m ever to drink you’n Sto—you under the table again.”

 

Everyone in the room heard it. No one commented. There wasn’t anything say. Cloudjumper gestured meaningfully toward the door and Valka nodded. “Right, I’ll see you and…thank you, for the drink and the conversation.” Her face had hardened, just that fast, from the soft affection it had worn to a craggy inscrutability. She swept out.

 

Gobber sighed as the door clattered closed.

 

“Sorry,” Eret felt compelled to say.

 

“No, no, it’s got nothin’ to do with you,” Gobber assured him, leaping out of his chair and stumping over to a keg in the corner of the eating area, filling a new tankard. “She’s not been doin’ well and I was tryin’ tae get her a little relaxed. It worked a bit, but Thor knows a few beers won’t solve the world’s problems.” He passed the foaming mug over to Eret, patting him on the shoulder and steering him onto a chair closer to the fire, and to Gobber’s. “But in your case, it can at least make a start. Drink up!”

 

Eret, for lack of any other response, did as he was told. He immediately made an involuntary noise of satisfaction, and took a deeper swig.

 

“Aye, you lookin’ to drown in it, are ye?”

 

Eret took another swallow, just to be contrary. “Haven’t had anything that didn’t taste of piss and seawater in years,” he said, belching in emphasis. Gobber howled with laughter, slapping his knee and taking his own quaff.

 

“A better compliment I’ve never gotten,” Gobber said. “Ain’t a man of any tribe that can’t be won over by an honest ale.”

 

Eret kept drinking. “You’re not wrong about that.”

 

Gobber’s face was so much different now than it had been this morning. Part of it must have been the firelight, which had a forgiving effect, but it was more than that as well. Gobber laughing—his face relaxed, blue eyes alight—was not the hard-eyed warrior that had roared into the construction. Still, he was no less dangerous; of that, Eret was abruptly aware.

 

“Not a dragon either—you know, Grumpy there knows a good ale from another just as well as a Viking?”

 

Eret believed a lot of things of dragons, but he wasn’t sure he believed this one. “Sure he does.”

 

Gobber snorted, gesturing wide enough to slosh some of his own beer onto the floorboards. “When I wear out a barrel or two, he’s always beggin’ for scraps of it. He can tell when it’s my ale or Sven’s that’s been in it—chooses mine, every time.”

 

“Hm,” Eret grunted noncommittally. It didn’t sound so far-fetched now that Gobber explained, but Eret wasn’t new to this game—stories shared over a pint, the world over, never could escape some good-natured skepticism.  “Now, I’ve seen dragons high over their tails on that dragon-root, but only once in my life have I seen one get drunk, and it was, Hand of Heaven, on apple schnapps.”

 

“Ha! I’ll believe that one when _Grump_ flies.”

 

It wasn’t long before the bubbling heat of just enough drink flushed the tendons of Eret’s neck and the tips of his fingers. He begged off, finally, after his third tankard, pleasantly warm and certain that he’d gained an ally. Gobber smacked him companionably on the shoulder as he was walked to the door.

 

“Ah really meant it as an apology, ya know,” Gobber said, looking Eret dead in the eye with unexpected lucidity. “Fer thinkin’ the worst of you. I’ve learned a lot from Hiccup, even in mah old age. Like most we consider enemies are just what we don’t understand.” He paused. “Don’t tell him I said that, though. Someone’s got to stop his fool head from being whacked off by somethin’ or someone he can’t tame.”

 

“I 'preciate his faith,” Eret confided ruefully. “Though I would't blame anyone for a lack of it. Still, thanks to Hiccup, I might do alright here. And thanks to you, I might have a friend.”

 

Gobber paused a moment, blinking like a startled Slitherwing, and Eret thought the drink might have finally hit him properly.

 

“Aye, friends. We can be tha’,” Gobber finally said, grinning wide and clapping Eret’s shoulder again even harder. Eret stumbled happily into the night, tripping neatly over Grump as he did so. Gobber’s roar of laughter into the night did nothing to bring down his good mood.

 

* * *

 

 

The weather, of course, accomplished what an errant stumble could not, and Eret found himself on rebuilding crew the next day in some of the most miserable conditions he had ever met—and he sailed a _ship._ The precipitation alternated between freezing rain and a wind that ran straight through the bones, and even the oiled leather cape he’d been given did precious little in the face of it.

 

He kept a stiff upper lip around the crew, but found himself sprawled out and complaining to Astrid during the morning break for strong yak-milk tea.

 

“How do you all even stand it, if it’s like this for the better part of the year?” he moaned, shoving his hands as close to the small fire in front of him as possible. He was huddled under part of the overhang that they’d built only that morning; Astrid was sitting serenely sipping her drink under one of Stormfly’s outstretched wings.

 

“Because Vikings are made of more than parchment and sugar apparently, unlike Southerners,” Astrid replied coolly.

 

“It’s madness!” Eret went on, ignoring her rebuff.

 

“Yes, well, have you _met_ Berkians?”

 

“Sure, and you’re all half-drawn, but I pegged you all as _sensible_ , at least!”

 

Astrid rolled her eyes but didn’t do much more than continue sipping her tea. “I don’t know why you’re complaining to me. You seem to be laboring under the impression that I give a flying Flightmare.”

 

Eret shook his head, but then was struck by a sudden flash of insight. “All the little goddesses—you do, though, don’t you?” he said, almost to himself. “Somehow—I’m just as surprised as you are, when in the Seven Kingdoms did this happen—but I think we’re _friends_.”

 

Eret had never seen such a pure expression of disgust on someone’s face before. She levered to her feet abruptly, stalking over to Eret specifically so she could smack the back of his head. It wasn’t a friendly smack, either; he bounced a little, and his temple winged against the wall he was leaning against. Stormfly chittered her amusement.

 

“I’m a dragon hunter!” he called after her as she stalked off with Stormfly in tow, “Violence _is_ our form of affection!”

 

“ _Eat dragon dung!”_

 

Two friends in two days. Eret was sure he was going for a record.

 

* * *

 

 

He had thought that too soon, of course. He was on his way to having _three_ friends, and he was trying very hard to avoid the third one.

 

Across the construction site from where he was working a few hours later, a Zippleback appeared. Astride the dragon were the twins, Tuffnut…and Ruffnut.

 

She and her brother, Eret gathered, were being kept away from the construction altogether. They’d been tasked with removing the worst of the ice, but it seemed like that task had been completed—or they had gotten bored of it. Either way, there was a mingled sense of wariness and interest across the site as the two came over to harass Astrid.

 

Eret tried to duck out of sight immediately, but Ruffnut was like a damn Scauldron, and could smell blood in the water.

 

“Well _hello_ ,” he saw her mouth from across the site. He wondered if being on top of scaffolding would save him, but in a breath Ruffnut had scrambled across the construction and shimmied up to where he was perched, crawling onto the planking with a strange, pointed kind of ungainly grace.

 

Eret awkwardly jammed his hammer in front of him like a shield. “Er, hello.”

 

Ruffnut looked at Eret like he had seen one of his drunk crewmembers look at fried potatoes. There was the same kind of unfocused hunger there. She kept her distance, not even trying to touch him, just regarding him with an undisguised appreciation. It was a _game_ to her, and although Eret felt awkward about the entire endeavor, he wasn’t necessarily opposed to it.

 

“I think I need some ground rules,” he said faintly, and if the comment had come out of nowhere, Ruffnut didn’t seem confused or taken aback. In fact, her grin deepened, mellowed into a sense of approval.

 

“Go on, you gorgeous Gronkle, you,” she purred.

 

“You can touch my arms.” He blurted out the first thing that came to his mind. Ruffnut’s grin grew even deeper. “Biceps, shoulder—that’s fine. But not—nowhere else. You understand?”

 

“Alright, I can play by those rules,” Ruffnut said, her expression sharpening. She sat up from her sprawl on the beam, scooting closer but assiduously not touching Eret. Eret was honestly a little surprised.

 

“And I won’t flirt back. I’m not interested—but I suspect that’s not—I suspect you know that.”

 

Ruffnut hummed assent, tilting her head to regard Eret. “I think the challenge will make this even more fun, you wily son of an Eret.”

 

Eret sighed. “Can I just ask why?”

 

Ruffnut shrugged, then made grabby hands at him until he understood and obediently held out his arm for her to feel up. “High entertainment, low stakes.” She squeezed Eret’s biceps a few times. “You can stop this whenever you want, you know—what’s _your_ motive?”

 

Eret flexed, watching the appreciative light in Ruffnut’s eyes as his arm bulged under her fingers. “I’d have to say the same,” he agreed.

 

Ruffnut cackled then, and spat into her free hand, holding it out to shake. Eret shrugged internally and spat in his own, and completed the movement.

 

“To friendship,” Ruffnut announced, which brought Eret’s friend count up to three officially.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who else headcanons Eret as coming from fantasy-New Zealand?


	3. Chapter 3

Eret finally realized he’d forgotten to ask Gobber a _second_ time about Skullcrusher’s nightmares, and resolved he was going to get his head on straight this time. As soon as he could break away from the construction, he was on his way to the smithy.

 

There were so many wild dragons and so many rescues of Valka’s that had chosen to stay, and each of them needed medical care, or at least a check-in. Valka had done a remarkable job with some incredible wounds, but there were some things a lone an individual could not provide. Apparently, dental care was one of them.

 

The line of dragons—some with chosen handlers already, other waiting alone, perhaps at Valka’s urging and perhaps just curious—was impressive and incredibly organized, thanks to Valka and Fishlegs’ supervision. Gobber was just inside the open smithy, singing a truly filthy song about what it meant to be a Viking, which had Eret guffawing long before he meant to be spotted. Instead of being able to sneak off and come back later when the line was less intimidating, Eret was waved over by cheerful-looking Gobber, who dragged him into the smithy by the arm and looked him up and down.

 

“You’ll do,” he said by way of greeting.

 

Eret wasn’t sure what to make of that.

 

“Grump’s taken a nap and won’t be budged, the great lummox, and the forge has gone out again. Work the bellow for me, will ye.”

 

That was how Eret found his afternoon spent in the forge, taking orders as Gobber brightly bandied with dragon after dragon. Eret could do nothing but watch the skill of each new solution, from new fangs to two terribly fearsome fillings. He thought he caught Gobber looking at him oddly once or twice, but only bent back to the bellows with ever more ardor. His own problems could wait.

 

Finally, instead of a dragon, Valka appeared at the window, leaning over it with her hands braced on the sill, smile wide and unguarded. “That’s the last of them, my Gobber. I’m going to find—“

 

That was the moment that her eyes fell on Eret, and she stuttered. Eret had the strange, gut-punching feeling that he had been watching a reenactment of a habit from twenty years ago, fallen into with ease and halted just as abruptly when the name that would have spilled from her mouth had tasted of salt and ash.

 

“—Hiccup,” Valka corrected herself softly, her shoulders curling inward without artifice. Eret had noticed that about her, how her body telegraphed her emotions more boldly and honestly than most. He wondered if it was an effect of living as she had for so long—either with no one to judge her, or maybe to match the forthright effusiveness of the dragons themselves. As it was, Eret could read a slide from ease to fresh grief as if it had been blood smeared across her face. He looked away, pretending as though that would give her privacy.

 

Gobber nodded, looking stricken. “Away with ye now. I saw Hiccup down by the Academy not long ago—ah swear, someone’s gotta keep a leash on that boy,” he said, faux-cheerfully.

 

Valka blinked, pausing for just a heartbeat too long.

 

“Ah—the old killing arena,” Gobber hastened to add. “If’n you remember, it’s up the rise an’—”

 

Valka drew herself up, sweeping the scraps of her self-fashioned cape around herself. “I wouldn’t soon forget it,” she said, voice low and hard. Gobber winced, clearly realizing he’d helped too much. Valka nodded jerkily, something like an apology, and turned on her heel. Cloudjumper followed behind her, leaning his weight just slightly against her as they moved in tandem.

 

“And bring dinner for the both of ye!” Gobber called after her. “I know you haven’t eaten, and the boy has never learned to cook on his own!” Then, mostly to himself, Gobber mumbled, “’Course, you never did either. There’s a reason I did all the cookin’.”

 

Eret wondered if this was the time he should sneak away, feeling as though he had already listened in on too much.

 

“Alright, lad, your bit’s over,” Gobber said with a sigh, turning to Eret and demolishing his chance for a tactful escape. It did, however, remind Eret of the reason he had been to the smithy in the first place.

 

“Skullcrusher’s having nightmares, and I can’t help him,” Eret blurted without much lead-in, which seemed par for the course for him today. Well, it had worked the first time; he’d might as well stick to the strategy.

 

However, his outburst had startled Gobber more than it had Ruffnut. The man blinked at him in a slow way, as though stunned. He came back to himself quickly, looking tired. “Aye, that doesn’t seem half surprising.”

 

Eret had sort of expected more than that. “Is there something I can do?”

 

Gobber wasn’t looking at him anymore, stamping around and putting his tongs and tools away. “That’s sweet, lad. But I don’t think there is. He needs his time to mourn, same as all of us.” Gobber let out a sound that sounded like he was trying to cover up a wet sniff with a cough and not quite succeeding. Eret suddenly felt like an idiot for even asking.

 

“You’ve—” Eret faltered. Platitudes seemed like they’d be less than useful here. “You’ve done a good job of being there for Valka. And Hiccup too, I expect,” he finally said.

 

Gobber shrugged, still not meeting Eret’s eyes. “Ah, well, they’re as much family as any, and they’ve lost a lot.”

 

Eret was confused. “Aye, and you have too.” After all, it was clear that Gobber and Stoick had been truly close. And even if they hadn’t been, the pall that had fallen over the people of Berk was universal. It was apparent that Gobber was trying to somehow push away his own feelings, but it wasn’t necessary. No one would begrudge him mourning a friend, not now.

 

“A husband,” Gobber said softly, almost to himself.

 

He finally caught Eret’s gaze with his own. There were no tears, but it was a close thing. “Valka lost a husband. An’ Hiccup a father. I’m their friend. I’ve got to look out for them.” The accusation, that Eret wouldn’t understand, was unspoken, but it hung between them like a spectre that would manifest if Eret pushed any further.

 

Maybe he didn’t understand. There was a _lot_ he did not know, and Berk was delighting in proving that to him. Still, it just didn’t make sense that Gobber took so much under himself and wouldn’t ask for help—even Viking stubbornness seemed to bend in times of tragedy. This was something else.

 

 _But who is looking out for you?_ Eret didn’t ask. Resolution twisted uncomfortably and without permission in his heart. He let it, promising himself it could be ignored. 

 

The double-percussion of air against dirt heralded a dragon's descent, and Gobber looked up, ready to turn away whoever needed his services after he was done cleaning up. Instead, he found the Chief had descended on the back of his shadow. He leaped off Toothless confidently. Not far behind him, Valka and Cloudjumper had also returned, and Valka dismounted much more smoothly, leaning heavily into Cloudjumper's side even after she stood on her own feet.

 

Hiccup hailed Gobber and trotted over. He had an amused look on his face. “I hear you’ve been telling my mom I can’t cook.”

 

Gobber threw his hands up, glaring at Valka. “What, did ye tell on me right away?”

 

Valka ducked her head, a pleased little smile on her face. “I did no such thing. I merely mentioned you advised we didn’t cook ourselves.”

 

Hiccup narrowed his eyes at the both of them. “First, I lived on the Edge for years on my own. Second, I had actually planned on asking you two to have dinner with me tonight, but _now_ \--!” He looked at Toothless, muttering drily, “I think maybe I’ll invite someone who would _appreciate_ me.”

 

Gobber threw his head back and laughed, and it only rang a little fake to Eret. “Now, mayhap I judged ye a bit harshly. Go on, impress me.”

 

Hiccup’s answering smile was impish. “I intend to. Mom?”

 

Valka’s eyes softened immediately as she looked at her son. Eret wondered if she would always be so enamored of Hiccup including her. He supposed he wouldn’t blame her if she was.

 

He had missed his first chance to sneak away from a social interaction that didn’t involve him, but Eret knew a second chance when it was breathing down his neck. He rose from where he had been hunched nearly out of sight to sneak out the back of the smithy, but wasn’t nearly as stealthy as he had wanted to be. He locked eyes with Hiccup, who raised both eyebrows. Without skipping a beat, however, he offered, “Eret, you’re invited as well.”

 

Eret shook his head quickly. “I don’t think—”

 

But there was suddenly a particularly mulish angle to Hiccup’s jaw that seemed to Eret to be vestiges of a habit of a much younger man. “No, really. I haven’t had a real chance to sit down and share a meal with you. I want you there.”

 

Eret tried searching again for the words to refuse. “It’s alright, I—”

 

“Ah, you heard the Chief,” Gobber told him with a particularly hard whack on the shoulder. “You don’t refuse a village chief his requests.”

 

Gobber has a fantastic point, and though his remonstrance was gentle, it stung. Before Berk, Eret would have never made the mistake of refusing his leader, even tacitly. It was the fastest and easiest way to end up dead under Drago. He had only been free a short ten days, but already his new autonomy was overwhelming is own survival skills.

 

“Of course,” Eret capitulated quickly, ducking his head a little. He felt several pairs of eyes on him, and his shoulders rose. He wondered if somehow this, more than anything else that had yet transpired, had made him a sudden target on Berk.

 

Never again. He’d leave before he subjugated himself to a man like Drago again—and he’d take Skullcrusher with him.

 

Gobber jarred him out of his thoughts with a smack on the shoulder. “Come on, lad, this is something we’ve _got_ to see. The great Hiccup Horrendous Haddock of the Hairy Hooligans—cookin’!” Gobber chortled, infinitely amused.

 

“Har, har,” Hiccup snarked. “Come on then.”

 

He and Valka were in the air quickly as Gobber set about the gargantuan task of waking Grump. “Mount up!” Gobber encouraged Eret once Grump was more or less on his paws.

 

“…right,” Eret agreed weakly, thinking that _of course_ they’d ride and not walk, and it shouldn’t have caught him off guard. Dragons as friends, he’d been fairly quick to assimilate to. Dragons as a way of life, however…that would take Eret more time.

 

He clambered up ungracefully after Gobber, wincing a little. Grump was much broader than Skullcrusher, and he wasn’t going to be able to hang on with just as thighs as he had grown accustomed to.

 

Gobber noticed his wobble. “Hang on t’me, this lump is a bit of a bumpy ride.”

 

Eret did as he was told. He remembered how badly his first tandem ride, behind Astrid, had gone. He wasn’t sure where to hold her and spent the entire time with a ginger grip and a stiff back. This time, he just sighed to himself and leaned into Gobber’s back, hoping he wouldn’t mind too much. Gobber smelled of hot iron and sweat, a combination that didn’t bother Eret at all.

 

\----____----

 

Although he’d been living beside it, Eret hadn’t yet stepped inside the chief’s home. Still, even with his lack of familiarity, he had a sinking feeling that the interior should not be this _smoky_.

 

“Ah, _nuts_ ,” Gobber muttered, stomping in. He gave Eret a meaningful look “What did I tell ye?”

 

“Hiccup, where is the lid for this?” Valka was asking, bent over a crockery pot for bread-baking as Hiccup gingerly eased it out of the fire. The pot was smouldering, and Hiccup was coughing too much to give his mother a straight answer.

 

With much grumbling and even more efficiency, Gobber had retrieved a rag from a wall cabinet and a clay lid from another, elbowing Hiccup out of the way to yank the pot out of the fire with his hook and put it outside. “That pot doesn’t have a lid, not after Hiccup smashed it when he was six and goin’ through his _helpful_ phase. But this one works just as well, or it has for years.”

 

Gobber began to wave the smoke outside the still-open door. Toothless, who had struck Eret from the beginning as the most sensible of anyone, flapped his wings helpfully and the room was clear in moments.

 

Hiccup looked directly into Toothless’ eyes. “Don’t. Say. A word.”

 

Eret had no idea that a dragon could even try to look innocent, not to mention fail as spectacularly as Toothless did.

 

“The stew is still fine…” Hiccup said to Gobber, gesturing to a larger cast-iron cauldron bubbling blithely alone now on the hearth.

 

Gobber sighed. “Oh, go away, I’ll fix it.”

 

Hiccup looked relieved. He also took the moment to finally acknowledge that Eret was still lingering in the doorway.

 

“I promise, I run the village much better than I cook,” he joked weakly. “Let me get you a drink. The ale is from Gobber anyway.”

 

Eret wanted out. Instead, he ended up sitting quietly at the rough-hewn kitchen table with the chief of the village and a half-feral dragon-woman who still refused to sit properly on a chair, two smarter-than-average dragons who had every reason to hate Eret’s very existence, and a man who, while friendly, would not be on Eret’s side if it came to pitched battle and in fact was not paying any attention to them at all. Gobber was bustling around the room with a mixing bowl and spoon, doing who-knew-what and whistling the same dirty tune as he had been singing at the forge before.

 

It was hard not to focus on the naked envy in Valka’s eyes as Gobber bustled about the chief’s home with a light-handed familiarity, but Eret and Hiccup made it work. They talked in a stilted fashion about the rebuilding that was going on, with strange pauses for Toothless to vocalize his own opinion and Hiccup to occasionally translate—or, just as often, forget to, and reply in the same deep thrumming noises and sliding chirps, leaving Eret completely befuddled. The ale made it better, but not too much so—Eret could not afford to have his faculties blurred, lest he overstep somehow. He was determined that it not be said that he couldn’t learn from his mistakes.

 

Hiccup and Gobber ended up serving stew with hastily-constructed boiled dough dumplings on top, and Eret ended up eating more than anyone at the table, save Valka. He couldn’t help himself, quite—he may have had fancier fare, or that more skillfully made, but like the Vikings that he’d come to live among, the food was honest, simple, and far too good for him. The evening mellowed out and Eret found a moment to duck out as Skullcrusher, his savior, came shuffling to the front door from wherever he’d wandered that day.

 

“I—It looks like he wants me out there with him,” Eret said, relieved at the rescue. Skullcrusher did indeed look impatient for Eret’s presence, shifting from paw-to-paw, and it was nice not to have to lie.

 

Hiccup looked genuinely disappointed. “Thank you for coming by, Eret, I mean it,” he said sincerely, walking Eret to the door.

 

“Aye, lad, I liked the story you told about your crewmate with the head-to-foot tattoos!” Gobber chimed in from the table. Eret had only told it to cover up one of several awkward silences, but he was glad that Gobber at least had enjoyed it for more than conversational triage.

 

“You should come by more,” Hiccup stressed. “And as we are rebuilding, I promise you’ll get your own hut as well. I swear, you’re welcome to stay here until—”

 

Eret cut him off with a shake of his head. “I’m happy where I am—ah, Chief. Comfortable. I have a place to stay, and as for the village—your people come first.”

 

Hiccup met his gaze steadily. “You are part of my people now, Eret Eret’s-son.”

 

Eret wasn’t sure what to do with the heat rushing up the back of his neck, so he just ducked his head. “The stables are fine for now. Don’t trouble yourself.” He turned, an Hiccup let him go.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragonese freaks everyone out, so Hiccup tries to limit his use of it when he is out Chiefing. That's different, though, when he is safe among his family. 
> 
> Hm.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Home is other people's couches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Insert obligatory John Snow joke here.

The stables _were_ fine, when Skullcrusher was around to help heat them, to snore and flail in his sleep. However, a few days after the dinner with the chief, Eret found himself trying to sleep in the stables _without_ Skullcrusher there at all, and realizing that maybe his situation was not as sustainable as he had thought.

 

It was late autumn by now and the mild chill of ending summer was slowly transforming into the persistent bit of frost. Low, wet clouds had rolled in over the afternoon and now laid thickly on the crags of the island like a damp blanket. The wind had begun to howl in almost an hour ago, followed immediately by spitting rain that didn’t fall so much as soak into the joists of houses and under the skin.

 

Something about the night felt dark and wild and, if not malevolent, then uncaring and inevitable. Eret had headed back to the stable after a long day of constructions, passing Skullcrusher conferring with Grump. He’d thought Skullcrusher would have returned to his bed by now, but despite the hour and the weather, there had been no sign of the Rumblehorn. Eret had tried to sleep and trust his companion would return on his own terms, but in the absence of a crew to worry over, his brain had instead locked onto his charge and he would not quiet it.

 

He retrieved his sealskin cloak from a peg on the wall, donned it quickly, and headed out into the wild night.

 

The damp crawled under his skin almost immediately, the cloak doing nothing to stop the insidious creep of cold. Eret hoped Skullcrusher wasn’t miserable out in this. He wasn’t even sure where to start searching for him. The dragon _did_ favor the crags around Berk over the beach, and although Eret was reticent to climb the rock sin the dark, his anxiety for his partner was stronger than for, say, potential broken bones.

 

The houses of Berk smouldered. The night was young enough that the windows still glowed faintly orange with the vestiges banked fires, but it was yet late enough most folk were already abed. It was therefore out of the ordinary that, as Eret passed Gobber’s house as he headed out of town, that he found it brightly lit and bearing an air of wakefulness and energy.

 

Skullcrusher _had_ been with Grump…

 

In a heartbeat, Eret found himself in front of Gobber’s door, knocking tentatively. Grump snorted a disgruntled noise, and the sound of Gobber thumping across the floor echoed through the wooden door.

 

By the time Gobber yanked open the door moments later, Eret already regretted knocking. He knew what he looked like, hair unbound and dripping, tunic mussed and not washed after working all day, his expression probably as tired and awkward as he felt.

 

What was even worse, somehow, was that Gobber looked so good—warm, solid, and completely himself. The contrast to Eret, the dirty urchin at his door, was hard to miss.

 

“Eret,” Gobber said in surprise, his voice rough. His prosthetic wasn’t screwed in, but the tankard end was on the table, turned on its side. “What’s wrong?”

 

Eret could see through the doorway, and there indeed, curled half on top of an insensate Grump, was Skullcrusher. Eret opened his mouth, tripped over his own tongue, and ended up pointing mutely at the dragon.

 

“Eh?” Gobber swiveled his head. “Skullcrusher? Oh—you lookin’ for him?”

 

Eret sighed, relieved that his impromptu game of charades was over. “Yeah.”

 

“Hmph, I was wonderin’ if you knew he was wanderin’. Want me t’send him home with ye?”

 

But how could Eret do that? “Nah, he looks warm ‘nough, and I haven’t seen him sleep that hard in awhile. I’m just glad he’s safe.”

 

And he was, truly, but the prospect of heading back to the stables alone was…not ideal.

 

“Alright,” shrugged Gobber. “Come on in, then.” He grabbed Eret’s bicep and dragged him firmly into the house.

 

“Uh?” Eret said eloquently.

 

“I ain’t sendin’ you back to freeze in that damn stable—n’ yes, I know you ain’t takin’ Hiccup up on his offer to stay inside.” He broke off, mumbling under his breath. “ _Damn stubborn, really have become a Viking.”_

 

Eret was steered to a corner of the living space on the other side of the dining table he’d sat at before. Dominating the space was a large divan, it’s cover carefully pieced together and bursting with straw.

 

“S’not much, but it’s a sight warmer’n less damp than out there. I’ll get ye a towel to dry off, then.” Eret was shoved down onto the couch, and he took a moment to be surprised—he was not used to being shoved around. Normally, there was no one who could move him if he didn’t wish to be moved. There was power and experience, both, in Gobber, which he used casually, familiarly, to put Eret where he wanted him.

 

A towel was shoved at him along with a stack of blankets, rough-spun and woolen.

 

“I was just closin’ up, so I’m bankin’ down the fire, but you just call if’n it gets too cold.”

 

And so Eret found himself accepting that, once again, things had gotten away from him and it was in his best interests to go with it. And he _was_ dripping wet. Turning towards the couch, he stripped off his cloak and tunic, wiping down as best he could as he heard the creaking sounds of Gobber settling his house for the night. Deciding his under-tunic, at least, was dry enough, he pulled it back on.

 

When he turned back around, he was surprised to see Gobber there, blinking up at him from across the room. Eret opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but Gobber shook himself and grunted, “if you need aught else, just yell,” before he turned on his peg and stomped up the steps to the sleeping loft.

 

Eret sighed, stretching out on the couch. The dragons, who had barely stirred while Eret settled, snored on merrily. The house grew dark as the fire ground to embers, and Eret heard the surprisingly comforting sounds of the man walking back and forth across the floorboards above him, getting ready for sleep. Eret knew he’d be dead to the world almost immediately, feeling inexplicably safe for the first time since—well, since starting his employ with Drago, if he was feeling dramatic.

 

“Goodnight, Eret,” Gobber called down from the loft, startling Eret from the edge of sleep.

 

“Goodnight,” he called up, half a beat too late to be polite. The house creaked around him and he dropped quickly off to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Eret wouldn’t say that sleeping on Gobber’s couch became a habit, exactly, but it wasn’t unusual either. Frequent late nights talking and drinking—often, strangely, with Astrid joining in—made having a warm place to sleep it off a gift. Gobber wouldn’t bother to even offer anymore, skipping straight to steering Eret bodily to the couch when he determined Eret had enough. Eret never fought it, appreciating entirely too much the settled feeling of the house at night, the smell of wood and wool around him, even the snores of both the dragons and his host.

 

It was a good deal all around as far as Eret was concerned, especially considering that he continued to rebuff all attempts to invite him into the Chief’s—and twice, Ruffnut and Tuffnut’s—hut. He didn’t need anything else complicating his relationship with the Berkians, which had grown strained again.

 

His welcome hadn’t been rescinded so much as _rethought_ as the dragons liberated from Drago slowly wended their way toward healing—or, in the worst cases, _didn’t_. One Zippleback died of an infected grappling-hook wound. Another, a Hobblegrump, succumbed to blunt force damage from a bolo that one of his crew had surely hefted. Even the stranger-dragons were mourned—quietly, without fuss, but surely missed. And no one said anything to him specifically, which of itself was unusual among, but Eret knew they’d connect him to the cruelty and _wonder_.

 

He threw himself into helping as much as possible. Often, it was as another strong arm to wield a hammer, but of late Bucket and Mulch had him in the dry-dock repairing damaged fishing boats. This work, Eret knew and knew _well_. He was no craftsman, but he was very good at ensuring things didn’t sink. He was finding out that, while Mulch was all thumbs when it came to repairs, Bucket was an _artist._

 

He was also easily distracted.

 

“Hey, that tickles,” Bucket announced in this subtly stilted way, gleefully petting at a Terrible Terror that had wended its way around his neck as he was sanding a bowsprit and was now sniffing at his ear. Eret had learned that the dry-dock was right at the edge of the “Dragon Camp” on the beach. As a result, they frequently received curious visitors as they worked. Eret was pretty sure he enjoyed the company of the Terrors, although he could not help but twitch if anything larger snuck up.

 

“Oh, away with ye now,” Mulch grumbled, swatting half-heartedly at another Terror that had twisted its way under his arm where he had been relegated tree-splitting after being forcibly taken off lathing duty.

 

It wasn’t overt—maybe something in the fond way that Bucket looked on as Mulch gently untangled himself from the dragon, or the rough care that Mulch had taken earlier that day to remove Bucket’s splinters. There wasn’t one thunderclap moment. It was just that Eret had spent the last seven-day with Bucket and Mulch and so when it hit him right there that they were—they _were—_ they were _something_ —it surprised him enough that he blurted it out.

 

“Are you married?” he asked.

 

He knew immediately it was the wrong thing to do when they both froze with two different concerned expressions on their faces.

 

“…well,” hedged Mulch.

 

“Mulch, are we married?” Bucket asked in genuine confusion.

 

Mulch shot Eret an exasperated look and went to clap Bucket on the shoulder. “No, Bucket, we’re—”

 

“Cuz I should know if we’re married, shouldn’t I?” Bucket asked, tone growing distraught.

 

“Bucket, we’re not married,” Much sighed.

 

“Not that I’d be opposed to it,” Bucket insisted. “But we live together already, and you cook for me a lot, and we raised all those sheep together why we gotta get married on top of it?”

 

“We _don’t_ ,” Mulch soothed him. “And if’n you recall, you said as much to me when I proposed to ye all those years ago, so we decided we’d be partners in life without all the fanfare instead. An’ we’re happier for it, aren’t we?”

 

Bucket nodded firmly. Eret was struck by the urge to stick his head in a Snafflefang’s mouth and tickle it.

 

“Aye, just like the chief!” Bucket said proudly. Mulch’s eyes widened, and his gaze cut to Eret.

 

“Er, not quite, Bucket, he didn’t ever think to settle down with—”

 

Eret very, very much wanted to hear the end of that sentence, but then he saw the Scauldron.

 

It was one of Valka’s strays, a friendly creature that had come several times to observe ship-building or to play with the fishers as they worked. It had to be told several times that boats were much more fragile than dragons, but it learned quickly—most of Berk now affectionately referred to it as Minnowbear.

 

Minnowbear had heaved himself up onto the beach and was slowly scooting up the rocks to where a patch of tenacious foliage had taken root. Eret hadn’t thought much of it—Minnowbear had already demonstrated a healthy curiosity of _everything_ , convenient to Berkians or not—until he saw the contents of that foliage.

 

Blue oleander.

 

He hadn’t known, before Berk, of the flower’s toxicity to dragons, and quite frankly was grateful that Drago hadn’t found a way to weaponize it. Still, the nature of oleander was one of the first and most jarring lessons he’d had from Fishlegs’ private medical tutoring that he’d sought out after Skullcrusher’s injury.

 

He was moving almost before he thought of it, dropping his lathe and pounding across the sand.

 

“Minnowbear!” he roared, just as the dragon in question took a huge bite of the foliage. “No!”

 

He didn’t want another dragon to die, not due to something he could have prevented. He heard Mulch yell something behind him, but his ears were rushing in his panic. He watched the Scauldron swallow and felt his stomach drop.

 

The Scauldron in question was blissfully unaware of the mistake it had just made. He saw Eret running for him and didn’t understand that what Eret wanted was to _save him,_ not hurt him. Intentions didn’t mean much when you were a rapidly-approaching stranger, and Minnowbear reared back at the perceived threat.

 

This, however, was a dance that Eret _knew_. He feinted and rolled, not a quickly as he would have liked but quickly _enough_. The Scauldron was filling up its throat-pouch, which Eret _hoped_ would flush some toxins but he didn’t know enough about dragon biology to be sure. The ideal, if he could induce vomiting right away, would be to keep Mnnowbear stable while someone went to—

 

“Get Gobber!” Eret shouted, holding still to draw Minnowbear’s first blast before narrowly ducking the worst of it he felt the hair on his forearms scorch but nothing overtly burned, so it was likely fine.

 

There was a commotion behind him, but Eret was too busy trying to keep eye contact with Minnowbear to turn around. Like with a snake, the moment you lost a staring match with a Scauldron, you lost _everything_. And Minnowbear wasn’t slowing, which was reassuring as to his physical state but not good for Eret’s health. He was afraid that the dragon would simply dive back into the sea and die there, alone and unreachable. With that scenario floating horrifyingly in the forefront of his mind, Eret dove for Minnowbear’s neck, scaling it as best he could to try to wrestle down his muzzle.

 

Behind him, the concussion of wings and a distinctive thud of dismount alerted him to back-up—which was excellent timing, as he was shaken _much_ harder than expected and flung onto the sand in front of the confused and distressed Scauldron.

 

 

“Eret!”

 

The voice was Astrid, which was comforting. She seemed the most capable of almost anyone on the island.

 

“Poisoned!” Eret huffed at her, gesturing wildly at the dragon swaying in front of him. “Oleander!”

 

Astrid did not seem as upset at the news as he had expected, but Eret didn’t have time to contemplate. Minnowbear was gearing up for another strike, and as Eret tried to kick himself to his feet, he skidded on the dry sand and couldn’t regain his footing. Minnowbear saw his stumble and struck.

 

“Eret!”

 

“No!”

 

“Stormfly!”

 

The first two voices were Mulch and Bucket; the last was Astrid. At her signal, Stormfly hurled a magnesium-bolt in front of Eret, effectively vaporizing Minowbear’s stream of boiling water. At the same time, a heavy, powerful arm hooked around Eret’s waist and hauled him bodily away from the blast-zone. Eret stumbled and fell against the body behind him, but it didn’t seem to matter as he was simply dragged _harder_ until he was definitively out of range. Then, he was spun and grabbed _hard_ by the bicep and yanked toward his rescuer. Eret found himself unsurprised that it was Gobber.

 

He also appreciated the save, but the hand gripping his arm prevented him from _getting back in there._

 

“Gobber, let go, he ate—”

 

“You _idiot_!” Gobber shouted, shaking Eret roughly, the grip on his arm digging in hard enough to bruise. “You nanny-brained, salt-drinking _bastard_!”

 

Eret reared back, completely baffled. “Gobber, what--he’s going to—”

 

“Scauldrons can _eat oleander!_ ” Gobber roared, the volume furious, his craggy face pressed up to Eret’s and looking every inch the Viking warrior.

 

Eret’s instinct was to take a swing at him, especially as Gobber’s hook was being shoved up to his nose. He rolled his arm, twisting as he did so, using an old brawling move to get out of Gobber’s grip before he did something he’d… _probably_ …regret.

 

He wanted to feel relieved—and did, a little. His blood was up, though, and the embarrassment for causing this kind of scene, coupled with the extreme self-control he was exhibiting to not start a physical fight was bubbling out of him defensively.

 

“I didn’t know!” he protested, stumbling back just a bit on the uneven sand as Gobber continued to advance. “I thought I was gonna watch another dragon die in front of me and, unlike every other time before, today I could do something to stop it!”

 

Gobber froze, as if stunned by a blow, and his eyes unfocused for a heartbeat, two, three. Eret had leaned forward before he could stop himself, suddenly concerned, but Gobber blinked and came back to himself and Eret was once again too close.

 

This time, Gobber decked him.

 

Eret took it straight to the jaw. His head snapped back and he twisted with it, which took out the worst of the sting but caused him to overbalance and hit the sand in an ungainly sprawl.

 

He swore viciously and tried to gather his wits _fast_ so he could get up and hit _back_. He was almost able to regain his feet, but—but then he saw Gobber standing over him. The man’s chest was heaving and he was red-faced in rage, but his expression was…stricken, somehow, wet-eyed and clench-jawed. It wasn’t regret there, but there was a grief that was too raw, both to miss and to acknowledge.

 

“You can’t save anyone if yer _dead_ ,” Gobber spat thickly, before stomping past him, sending sand flying in his wake. Eret spat some out and stood the rest of the way to watch him go. He wasn’t sure what his own expression looked like, but he caught Mulch glancing at him in pity.

 

“Yer bein’ an arse!” Eret hollered at Gobber’s retreating back, but Gobber didn’t hear him, or at least pretended he didn’t.

 

Astrid had apparently put out the fire that he had started, and Minnowbear was calmer and looked to be engaged in a complicated conversation with Stormfly which included lots of head-nodding and shoulder-flaring. Eret tried to give Astrid a “ _what was that_ ” look, but she wasn’t having it.

 

“Nope, you really messed up this time.”

 

“I didn’t _know!_ ”

 

“That that’s no excuse. Not-knowing can get you killed,” Astrid pointed out, shutting him down. “And none of us are up to losing anyone else right now, alright?”

 

It took everything in Eret not to point out that _was_ what he had been trying to prevent, losing another dragon. He knew when he was losing an argument, though, and hadn’t he just been down on himself for arguing with authority and making himself a target?

 

He turned to—well, he wasn’t sure what, maybe try to salvage the rest of his carpentry—but Astrid stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

 

“Oh no, you aren’t getting away that easily. You didn’t know? Well, you’re going to have to learn from people who do.”

 

Somehow, that sounded ominous. “I get lessons from Fishlegs every other day, he really doesn’t have time to—”

 

Astrid scoffed harder than Eret thought was fair or necessary. “Oh no, you want to cause a scene? You want to learn about causing the most destruction but the least harm?”

 

No, he did not.

 

“I’m taking you to the Twins,” Eret heard Astrid say, and it was only then that it dawned on him exactly how much trouble he was really in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eret sometimes talks to fill silences or to distract his superiors from any number of things. Ironically, however, sometimes things come out of his mouth that he hasn't...thought...out... Maybe he's getting soft. 
> 
> Hierarchy of dragon relations Nuisances --> Products --> Pets --> Friends? 
> 
> ((Lovers... ?)))))))) ((((((((....no......))))))))


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We know all about Ruffnut's kinks, now we learn about Tuffnut's. 
> 
> Also, its easy to see the lay of the land when you're at the top of the next hill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's early because I am impatient and this chapter was important to me. 
> 
> If you're interested, this song on repeat is pretty much all I played while writing:
> 
> www(dot)youtube(dot)com /watch?v=CityTjZnfZ8
> 
> I also didn't know where to cut it off so....two for the price of one?

It was only after Astrid dropped him at their doorstep that Eret realized that he hadn’t known where the twins’ house was. He supposed he could be forgiven for his oversight—this time, at least—because it wasn’t exactly in the village proper. The Twins had been relegated to a spur of rock overlooking the sea, and though it was definitely within sight of Berk, it was also far enough away that, say, a stray fire originating in one place would not be able to jump to the other.

 

This was important because something was currently sparking through the windows.

 

Astrid strode to the door as if she were unafraid of death and banged on it loudly. “Ruff, Tuff! I have a project for you.”

 

“Excuse me, _what_ —”

 

Before Eret could finish interjecting, the door slammed open and both terrors appeared in it. Worryingly, the sparking didn’t stop.

 

“Ah, Astrid. We foretold your arrival!” Tuffnut said with a flourish as he dropped a curtsey, “But not your intent.”

 

Somewhere in the house, a chicken clucked.

 

“Eret needs a crash course in all the things we know can kill a dragon,” Astrid said by way of explanation. “And all the things that _can’t_.”

 

The twins seemed to take the request in stride, and Astrid left Eret to their tender mercies. He was dragged into the house and the door slammed behind him with an air of finality.

 

The sparking, he found, was one half of the Zippleback the twins rode, who was asleep with its head out the window. It was snoring, sparks whistling out its mouth on every exhale. Sprawled across the floorboards was its other head, which drooled a steady stream of gas. Neither twin seemed to notice or care, stepping casually over the dragon as they lead Eret deeper inside. Eret tried to pretend that active fire hazards were something he was as blasé about as they were. He wasn’t sure it was working.

 

The house was, surprisingly, mostly intact. Far from what Eret had suspected, the walls were sturdy and the furniture was, if not pristine, then at least recognizable and presumably serviceable. There was an eating table and five mis-matched chairs, several benches, and a huge rag rug. What the house did have, however, was a lot more than that. A _lot_. Every surface was covered, stacked, draped, and piled with alarming and varied _things_. There was a dried shark skin leaning on a wall, stacks of animal pelts hanging from rafters, an entire bowsprit of a fishing coracle sitting undisturbed in the middle of the living space, and an army of objects that sparkled scattered everywhere he could see. Anything from polished glass to tin pots to pieces of jewelry which definitely _could not_ be gold was fair game and decorated shelves and alcoves liberally. He felt distinctly like he was in a Smokebreath lair.

 

“So,” Tuffnut asked as Ruffnut shoved him onto a padded bench and curled comfortably next to him. “What kinds of wisdom can we impart to you? What knowledge do you seek? What must you, at great peril to your own psyche, absolutely _know_?”

 

Astrid did not give him instructions, and so what slipped out was what he had been thinking about for days.

 

“What was Stoick like?”

 

Tuffnut looked at him suspiciously. Ruffnut looked at him hungrily. Eret wondered why he hadn't yet stolen a fishingboat and sailed away from this island.

 

"Why ask us?" Ruffnut prodded. "You could've asked Hiccup."

 

"Or Valka" Tuffnut agreed.

 

"Or Gobber."

 

"I think you both know I couldn’t," Eret said.

 

"'Couldn't' is just a word that teachers make up," Tuffnut sniffed archly.

 

"I think that's 'shouldn't'," corrected Ruffnut. "Or 'DON'T, THATS DANGEROUS'. Like, duh, we know."

 

Eret was feeling dizzy. "Well, whatever I couldn't--shouldn't—do—just tell me about the man!"

 

Ruffnut and Tuffnut regarded each other consideringly. "Big," Ruffnut said, just as Tuffnut decided on, "Loud."

 

Eret had sort of gathered that, from the first and only time he had met Stoick, striding like royalty onto his boat, roaring orders and challenging any and everyone in his way. It had shaken Eret, a little, the confidence. Eret had felt unmoored on his own ship. He couldn't quite imagine the way it might have been here, though. Berk was...well, it wasn’t boring, not even a little, but it seemed...bleak. Like any noise made was muffled by the heather, or whisked away by the wind. Eret felt like he was walking around with his ears plugged, sometimes.

 

"Boring," Ruffnut insisted, bringing Eret back to the present. "And shouty. Hiccup is boring too, but he can't quite get the volume. If we were doing anything fun, Stoick would just yell and pick us up and throw us somewhere else. Heh, that was a good game."

 

"I believe he had a stature that mortals refer to as 'larger than life'," Tuffnut remarked, affecting some sort of accent that Eret didn’t even try to place. "He was easy to avoid, because you always knew where he was. Kept the plebians in line, though. They seemed to respond well to that kind of authority, especially when said authority was never, ever wrong."

 

"But you knew that already," Ruffnut cut in. "I mean, aren't you sleeping with his ghost?"

 

"I'm what--?"

 

"But what Stoick was the real master of was the fear-boner," Tuffnut declared expansively.

 

Eret really didn't want him to go on. "Okay, thanks, that's--"

 

"Do you know what a fear-boner is, Eret?" Ruffnut asked, sliding in close and running her hands up Eret's biceps in a manner that should not have been so filthy. "The sweet ache of desire even when you could get...very...hurt?"

 

Eret was admitting to nothing, and he wasn't thinking about what had happened only an hour before, staring down a madman and a desperate dragon. His bicep throbbed where deep tissue bruises were sure to manifest.

 

"No," Eret said resolutely.

 

"Really? A man of your profession must get some thrill out of it," Tuffnut pushed, bending in close. "The rush of the sliding sea spilling from beneath your feet, maybe? The desperation of hand-to-hand combat?"

 

"It’s not my profession anymore," Eret shot back, a touch bitterly. That’s why he had risked his life today. To prove he was no longer a raider.

 

“You’re a Viking now,” Tuffnut insisted, “and that must mean you are at least a little familiar with fear-boners.”

 

“I’ll give you a fear-boner any time you want, stud,” Ruffnut offered, which leached out any unexpected pleasure Eret had gotten from Tuffnut telling him he considered Eret a Viking.

 

“What got you sent to Punishment today, anyway, my man?” Tuffnut asked, deciding he was tired of sitting and instead climbing right up onto the eating table and sprawling across it like it was a bed.

 

“…saved a Scauldron’s life,” Eret muttered petulantly.

 

Tuffnut snorted. “Tough break. That sounds like the exact kind of thing Boring Hiccup would hate. Which is dumb, considering how often he risks his own life.”

 

“Hiccup wasn’t even there,” Eret complained. “I just got shouted at by Gobber. He _hit_ me, which I suppose I ought to be more mad about.”

 

“Nah, that’s just our man. Hel, that’s our man being _parental_ ,” Tuffnut insisted, while Ruffnut took it upon herself to stroke Eret’s blooming bruises.

 

Eret was _tired_ , he was _adrenaline drunk_ , and he was absolutely out of his element. It felt like a permanent state in his new life in Berk, but right now the symptoms seemed magnified tenfold. He stopped fighting it. He leaned back against the questionable integrity of the twin’s furniture and just gave in. He was going to be here, he might as well get comfortable. If chatting and light petting was what the twins wanted, well, he had certainly been in worse situations. It almost felt nice.

 

“ _Parental._ Gobber did seem like he was sort of a dad for Hiccup,” Eret said.

 

Ruffnut made a considering noise. “More like a weird uncle.”

 

“More like a _mom_ ,” Tuffnut disagreed.

 

“You might be on to something there,” said Ruffnut. “I mean, he cooked, and took Hiccup to dragon-killing school, _definitely_ gave him his first drink—I was there, he aspirated it, coughed for a solid five minutes!—and basically ran Stoick’s house when the man was too busy with chiefing.”

 

“Gobber is _not_ maternal,” Eret argued, because there was no way. He was loud and rough and stank and drank like Scauldron; not a bad man, but not a soft one. Eret’s jaw throbbed right on cue. No, not a soft one at all.

 

“No, no, see, it was about being Stoick’s partner when Valka died—left—whatever. Stood in to do whatever he could. He wasn’t always good at it, but—well, he always packed clean undies. That has gotta count for something,” Tuffnut declared.

 

Eret chewed it over. He wasn’t sure wanted to open the door to the twins _ever_ having a good point, but it was hard to deny how wrapped up in Stoick’s life Gobber had been. Eret felt sorry that he’d only been there after Stoick’s _life_ was no longer something Gobber could have staked his own in. He knew Gobber as an impressive man now—it must have been a thrill to see him solid and in his element.

 

And that was just the thing, wasn’t it? Eret still tiptoed around Berk, even now, and he’d thought maybe it was just his own imposter syndrome, but maybe it was because everyone else was tiptoeing, too. The whole island was shaken, off-balance, and Eret had thought that was the way this beautiful and strange almost-home had always been but maybe it hadn’t been. He loved Berk for what it was now, he really did. He also ached, somewhere, for what it must have been like before.

 

Eret was a coward, he was an opportunist, he was homeless and an outsider. He wasn’t dumb, though. He knew he didn’t just feel this way about Berk.

 

“I have to go apologize,” he said with a sigh, standing and shaking Ruffnut off him.

 

“Thor damn it, did we actually help teach you a _lesson_?” Ruffnut complained. “That means Astrid will _keep_ sending people here when they’re in trouble.”

 

“No, no, I’ll blame it on using my own stupid brain for once,” Eret said distractedly, already sliding around the dozing Zippleback and heading out the door.

 

Tuffnut cackled, “Yeah, she’d never believe that we taught you that.”

 

* * *

 

The sun, which had been plummeting fast when he left the twins, was completely gone by the time Eret had jogged back to Gobber’s, leaving only orange and grey streaks in the sky that the night was rapidly swallowing. He didn’t think while he ran. Once a day was enough; he didn’t have enough brain space for any more sudden revelations.

 

He was almost to Gobber’s door before he realized that something was off. Grump was curled up outside, but he was tensed and his eyes were wide open, trained on the hut. There was a subtle growling from inside. There was also a not-so-subtle yelling.

 

“ _—why can’t you admit my idea has merit_?” Hiccup, the Chief of Berk, was shouting.

 

“ _Because it’s completely yak-brained insane_!” And Gobber was giving it right back.

 

“ _We’re running out of options, Gobber. We can’t sustain this many dragons for long. But the Edge, and the surrounding islands, absolutely could_.”

 

“ _So take_ them _there, but don’t you dare try to uproot—”_

 

“ _You’re not_ listening _to me! I need to keep Berk’s people safe, and I have a way to do that, but just like my dad, you’re talking over me and refusing to listen—”_

_“Oh, just like your dad, huh? If Stoick were here, he’d—_ ”

 

“ _Well he’s_ not _here! He’s dead, and I’m the chief now.”_

Eret sucked in a hard breath, which echoed in the sudden silence. The deep thrumming growl of who Eret now assumed was Toothless cut off sharply, leaving a moment of stillness before the sounds of the ocean and the wind rushed in to fill the void like water filling a capsizing boat.

 

Hiccup’s voice lowered and he said something else, but Eret couldn’t make it out. The front door swung open, and Eret dove behind Grump’s bulk. Grump, bless him, flopped slightly more obliquely and let Eret stay where he was pressed up against the dragon’s side. He didn’t dare look out until long after Hiccup had mounted Toothless and flown off into the night.

 

The right thing to do would be to leave and to pretend he hadn’t overheard. He could apologize to Gobber in the morning, without walking into the mire of emotion that had settled like a pall around the hut.

 

He didn’t want to do that, though. He didn’t want to let this one slide. There was something missing, just the last little piece of a picture that Eret was _looking_ at but not _seeing_. It was selfish, to walk in there now when Gobber was at his most vulnerable and his least likely to want Eret to see.

 

Grump snuffled and nosed Eret’s hip pointedly. Eret couldn’t help but jump, his body remembering being trapped under that bulk once, that self-same first time he had met Stoick. The first time he’d met Gobber.

 

Well, if the dragon wanted him to do it…

 

Eret didn’t knock. He hadn’t knocked in weeks. He eased open the door, caught sight of Gobber, and knew he’d made the right decision. Sliding the rest of the way in, he shut the door behind him, but didn’t move any further.

 

Gobber was _livid_.

 

He was standing in the middle of the living space, the hearth-fire lighting him eerily from beneath and one side. Even in the low visibility, Eret could pick out the signs—the man’s face was dark red, his shoulders taught as bow strings, his fist shaking violently with how hard it was clenched. This wasn’t Gobber from the beach, scared—because he had been, hadn’t he?—and raging; this was a man pushed past feelings that he could process, rendered still and speechless.

 

“I—” Eret began inauspiciously, wincing even as he did so, the silence so bruised and throbbing with new blood that even that one word sent it flaring.

 

“How _could_ he,” Gobber spat, his voice hoarse with fury. “How _dare_ he suggest to—t-to—” His jaw juddered out of his control. “To move _Berk_ , to m-move our _home_.”

 

So that’s what the argument had been about. Hiccup had wanted to relocate the village? It made sense, Eret thought, from a resource standpoint, but he didn’t think it would be a popular proposal in the least.

 

Eret cast around for something to say, but after a moment, Gobber spoke again.

 

“And he, he _suggests_ , these—these _things_ , without thinking. We f-fought for Berk. We _died_ for her. We didn’t flee the dragons then, and w-we won’t now. S—” Gobber took a breath, set his shoulders even tighter. “Stoick would never have said that.”

 

It was the look in Gobber’s eyes as he said it, only the second time that Eret had ever heard Stoick’s name leave Gobber’s lips.

 

“How long have you been in love with him?” Eret asked softly.

 

Gobber’s blue eyes locked on Eret’s, and for a moment they both froze in a mutual and consuming panic. Then, with a great shiver Gobber’s body collapsed into itself, his shoulders rolled forward, his head dropped to his chest.

 

“ _My whole damned life_.”

 

He buried his face in his hand and sobbed, his body shaking him through it violently enough that Eret wasn’t sure how he kept standing. He wanted to hold him up. He wanted to hold him, even just a little. He did not. He stood stock-still and watched Gobber break into pieces in front of him.

 

Gobber wasn’t even quite aware that Eret was there anymore. “ _Why did y’have to leave, you damned great oaf? Why did ye leave us behind?_ ” he howled, his voice strangled. “ _Why did ye leave me to raise your son an’ watch your wife mourn? I shoulda been the one lightin’ your pyre. I shoulda been the one placin’ your shroud. I was the one that loved ye!”_

These were the words that Gobber hadn’t gotten to say, the grief he’d spent these long weeks hiding away. He screamed them into the empty hut, and Eret stood as his witness.

 

After a time, the sobs quieted down and if there had been tears, they were gone. All that was left was Gobber, trembling and tired, his breath hiccupping and his lungs not quite able to regulate. He didn’t look up at Eret, just stood with his face still covered, and Eret wondered if it was out of embarrassment now that the heat of new feeling had bled into the dark.

 

“Come on.” Eret’s quiet words still sounded like whipcracks in the silence and he felt his own shoulders duck momentarily. Gobber didn’t move, and so after a moment of deliberation, Eret grabbed his wrist, right above his wooden prosthetic, and tugged him as gently as possible after him up the stairs to his bed.

 

“Shite, Eret—” Gobber started as Eret guided him down on the pile of furs heaped on his bedframe. His voice was urgent. “I shouldn’ta—I’m not—”

 

“It didn’t happen,” Eret assured him.

 

He thought those were the right words to say, to assure Gobber that he wouldn’t tell. Gobber’s full-body flinch told him otherwise. “ _Pox_. No, I mean—it happened. And I saw it, and I know. And I’m not telling. Anyone. I just—I’m—” Eret paused, sighed. “I’m sorry.” _I’m sorry you lost him. I’m sorry you loved him. I’m sorry he never loved you. I’m sorry I said anything. I’m sorry you had to wait until tonight to mourn_.

 

“No apologizin’ for nothing you did wrong—and only sometimes for the things you did,” Gobber said quietly. He paused. “It was—ah, a joke he had sometimes. ‘Cept he wasn’t always jokin’ about it, you know.”

 

“He sounds…” Eret struggled for a moment. “He sounds like he was a very good chief.”

 

“The best Berk could’a asked for,” Gobber said softly. He laid back against his bed and stared blankly at the ceiling. “And a good man.”

 

Eret didn’t comment at the tears that slid down Gobber’s temples. He walked over to the bed, and clapped a heavy hand on Gobber’s shoulder. “Tell me about him sometime.”

 

Gobber just nodded.

 

Eret didn’t want to leave, but he also couldn’t quite bring himself to stay at Gobber’s bedside. If he stayed, he would do more than just grip his shoulder. Gobber needed to be hugged hard, reminded that there were other things in the world that were real and solid. But that was not for Eret to decide.

 

He turned and retreated down to the living area, settling onto the divan. He heard the unquiet breathing of Gobber above and thought of Skullcrusher’s nightmares. In the end, he didn’t sleep until dawn filtered in under the door, if only so that Gobber would not be awake alone.

 

* * *

 

 

When Eret opened his eyes again late the next morning, the hut was deserted.

 

He was immediately embarrassed. He hadn’t slept this late in…years, likely. Certainly not since coming to Berk, where every day he was up to earn his keep and prove that he, too, could make a place here. Normally, even when he slept here after a late night of drinks, Gobber would be up with the sun, sliding open shutters and grumbling as he started the hearth-fire. Today, no fire smouldered and the windows were latched shut. It felt distinctly like Gobber had slunk out of his own house.

 

“ _Pox_ ,” Eret sighed, and went to go track down Skullcrusher.

 

Astrid found him first.

 

“You look like a dragon’s breakfast,” she said casually. “Did the twins really take it out of you that bad?”

 

Astrid didn’t look much better—she was drawn and pale in a way that spoke of even less sleep than Eret had enjoyed.

 

“You could say that,” Eret said, deciding discretion was the better part of not getting kneecapped.

 

They fell into step together, Stormfly for once not hovering as Astrid’s shadow, and for a time it was quiet as Eret scanned the horizon for his missing Rumblehorn.

 

“Have you seen Hiccup?” Astrid asked him after a pause.

 

Eret blinked. “No?”

 

“Is that a question?” Astrid asked him.

 

“No—er, no, it’s not a question, I just thought—you of all people should know where he is, shouldn’t you?”

 

Astrid scowled. “Well, I don’t. I saw him last night, and then he and Toothless were _off_.”

 

Eret wondered if they argued. He wondered if Hiccup had suggested the same plan to Astrid as he had to Gobber. He didn’t have the balls to ask.

 

“I’ll help you look for him, if you help me look for Skullcrusher,” he said instead.

 

“Deal,” Astrid said, entirely too quickly. She pointed across the square. “There, I held up my end of the bargain.” And lo and behold, the errant Rumblehorn was snuffling at the edge of a public water trough.

 

Eret rolled his eyes before brightening up. “Ah, and I have too.” Skullcrusher shifted his weight to reveal Hiccup—strangely sans-Toothless. He was leaning moodily on Skullcrusher’s shoulder, half-obscured by the dragon’s bulk. Skullcrusher looked to be paying him no mind at all.

 

When they drew close enough, Eret slid his hands over Skullcrusher’s jaw. The dragon looked up happily, dripping water all over Eret as he nuzzled closer.

 

“Yeah, I’m sorry about last night,” Eret murmured.

 

“Eret,” Hiccup said, cutting off Astrid, who had strode over to him. Eret looked up, caught sight of Hiccup’s pensive expression, and considered getting on Skullcrusher and escaping immediately.

 

“Yeah?” Eret tried to appear cool and unbothered.

 

“A word, if you don’t mind.” Hiccup had down the habit of asking-without-asking already. He cut a look to Astrid, who frowned but backed off—not a lot though, not enough to give them any real privacy, and Eret was somehow grateful for that. He wondered if he was about to be yelled at for the stunt on the beach.

 

“Skullcrusher was looking for you last night,” Hiccup said instead, which… _busted_. Hiccup absolutely knew where Eret had been; Eret was sure of it. The Nightfury had probably _smelled_ him, even with Grump’s stagnant breath shielding him.

 

“I feel bad about that,” Eret replied, agreeing but not quite, refusing to admit his indiscretion but also refusing to disrespect the person in charge. It was a fine line; he walked it well.

 

Hiccup raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “But not bad enough that you slept in the stables at all last night. No,” he raised a hand to still whatever retort Eret was queuing up. “I’m glad you’ve found somewhere that you’re more comfortable. I just have a habit of learning my Vikings’ patterns; I wanted to make sure I know where I can find you if I need you.”

 

If Eret admitted he’d been sleeping in Gobber’s house—which Hiccup knew already, but was for some reason angling for a confession about—he was in a tough position. Not only had he _basically_ also admitted to eavesdropping, or at least _knowing_ about the fight last night, there was the matter of the fallout of that. He knew without a doubt that Hiccup had no idea about Gobber’s closely-held torch. Eret had no idea how _he’d_ even guessed it, truth be told. The pieces had all been there, but if no one else had ever looked at Gobber closely enough to put them together, Eret had no idea what had allowed him to do it. So, it was best if Eret avoided talking about it _at all_ , if only to protect Gobber in what small way he could.

 

He was saved from answering, however, by Astrid, who had entirely given up the pretense of giving them privacy.

 

“Speaking of ‘knowing where you can find people’—where did _you_ go last night?” she demanded, stepping into Hiccup’s personal space.

 

Hiccup’s demeanor dropped from professional to ducking and chagrined in the time it took Skullcrusher to sneeze. “I just—I had to—”

 

“I’ll…leave you to that,” Eret murmured out of courtesy, then without waiting for a reply scrambled onto Skullcrusher’s back. The dragon was a blessing from the Allfather, and took to the air immediately.

 

He wasn’t sure where he was going. The smart, responsible thing would be to seek out Bucket and Mulch and see how he could be helpful. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to do that, though. He still had to apologize to the both of them—which reminded him that he actually still needed to apologize to Gobber, too. He had the mental fortitude to do exactly one of those things today, and Gobber came first.

 

This might be a conversation better suited to daylight, anyway. Lines tended to blur after dark.

 

* * *

 

 

It was ironic, of course, that he was hailed three separate times on his search by different townsfolk needing an extra hand or, more often, Skullcrusher’s strength. Before he knew it, the whole day had passed him by, and he hadn’t caught sight of Gobber at all—or, thankfully, Hiccup. Astrid had brushed by him a few times, however, and her demeanour was not encouraging. She walked with a thick tension about her, a discontent and a prescience. Unpleasant decisions were being made. Eret was grateful to stay out of them.

 

He made extra sure that he was alone when he finally tracked Gobber down back at his home that evening. Skullcrusher cast about and grumbled what Eret assumed was an ‘all clear’. Sighing, Eret squared his shoulders and let himself into the hut.

 

Gobber was reclining at the eating table, drinking. He jolted when Eret walked in, then his expression morphed into something like chagrin.

 

“Aye, lad, I wasn’t expectin’ you back here tonight.”

 

Any other day, Eret would have heard that as a tacit dismissal. This time, however, he had a goal in mind, and he wasn’t going to leave without accomplishing it.

 

“I—”

 

“Sorry about your jaw, by the way,” Gobber threw at him, awkwardly but sincerely. “That’s Hel’s color.”

 

Eret had barely thought about it all day, but it must be bruising up nicely. He hadn’t spoken much today, and he might have skipped lunch, so it hadn’t given him pause. 

 

Eret shook his head at Gobber’s apology. “No, that’s what _I’m_ here for. Sorry for bein’ an absolute greenie and causin’ all that fuss yesterday. I meant to say it yesterday, but—”

 

Gobber’s expression dropped and his jaw clenched momentarily. When he met Eret’s eyes again, it was as if he was willing himself to hold it together. “You don’t need to mention it. In fact, don’t. You heard Hiccup yesterday, I wager—he’s gone. Nothin’ can help that.”

 

“Sure,” Eret agreed, thinking with a brief pang about his mother. Little gods, how many years had she been gone? “But maybe I can help _you_.”

 

Gobber sputtered. “What in Thor’s name makes you think I need _help_ —”

 

Eret refrained from the obvious answer, which was the frankly impressive amount of alcohol that Gobber could be seen going through in an evening. He’d been complicit to that, after all. “Hiccup and Valka, they’re given slack around here, because they’ve lost family. To Berk, you lost a friend, just like they did. You’ve been given enough time.”

 

“We _were_ just friends,” Gobber said harshly, but he was surprisingly not yelling or throwing Eret out of his house yet. “That was the damned _point_.”

 

Gobber stood abruptly and fetched another stein. He gestured for Eret to sit and Eret, befuddled, did just that.

 

“Well, you had a set to your shoulders like you weren’t leaving,” Gobber shrugged at his expression. “Might as well have a drink.”

 

Eret raised his mug to that.

 

They drank in silence for several minutes, Gobber staring Eret down, as if daring to continue his well-meaning assault on his privacy—at least that was how it felt. Eret _knew_ it was none of his business, but he wasn’t all that great at minding himself in the best of circumstances. And now—well, he’d thought it yesterday too: he wanted to _know_ , what it had been like. What Gobber had been like.

 

He didn’t know what to say or how to ask, though, so he waited. Eventually, one of them would get tired or drunk or _something_ would give.

 

“Just once, long ago, I thought maybe we coulda become somethin’.”

 

Eret had zoned out, and startled back to awareness when Gobber spoke. He couldn’t do much more than blink curiously at the man. Gobber didn’t meet his eyes.

 

“Well,” he shrugged. “It’s just—he’d always been head over heels for Valka, you know. An’ I loved her too, I really did. Do. _Thor_ , it’s so good to have her back. An’ it was the three of us, all the time, an’ there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that it’d be them drinkin’ the bridal-ale, but I was there too. Followin’.”

 

Gobber came back to himself a little, looking at Eret, leaning across the table with seriousness. “I’d never have made a move to stop them. I could tuck my feelin’s aside if they’d let me stay with them. I’d never hurt them, not for the world. No one could break that bond. But they _let_ me be there, y’ken. Their first hut was off on the edge of the village, when Sto—Stoick’s father was still alive. An’ I was there often as not, cookin’ and the like, because Valka never did get the hang of it. Spent most evenings there; had my own chair, my own place. We were happy, before she died.”

 

Eret tried to imagine it, what their home might have looked like. Gobber’s hut yawned empty around them.

 

Gobber chuckled mirthlessly into his drink. “An’ there was a time, before they were betrothed. I knew Stoick was plannin’ it. I helped him forge the sword he used, for Odin’s sake! I just hadn’t known when, for sure. And the three of us—me on their invitation, mind—went on a trip to an island not far from here, just a wee vacation. Slept on the beach, next to a fire we built; spent the whole day fishin’ off a rock and swimmin’ a bit, back when I still had both mah hands.” He sighed. “Got colder’n we thought at night, and Val’s cloak went floating off into the water some time that day. We ended up sleepin’ in a pile like dogs, her head on my chest and Stoick on my other side. His arm wrapped around the both of us and I thought maybe, maybe this was somethin’…somethin’ I could….”

 

Gobber stood up suddenly, almost knocking over his bench, stumping to the cask to refill his mug. “Anyway. Nights end. Stoick proposed to her that morning, while we all still stank of firesmoke and were sunburned five ways to Valhalla. We’d never been more of a mess, and he had the sword on him that whole time somehow. Gave it to her before we sailed back, and that was that. We never spoke of the beach much after that.”

 

For a moment, Eret hated a dead man. Why had he brought Gobber all that way with him, only to flaunt in his face something that would be out of his reach forever?

 

“They let me be part of something, them together,” Gobber said softly, finally turning around to look at Eret. “There was so much hope, that even if we never talked about what we were, they still _cared_ that I was a part of their home…and then Val died, of course. Things changed a lot after that.”

 

Eret stood up, unable to sit still any longer. He crossed to Gobber, knocking their mugs together. “To Stoick,” he said, downing the last of his beer.

 

“Aye,” Gobber agreed, finishing the fresh mug in one go and belching in a satisfied way. He wobbled a little, looking a bit lost. “I’ve never told that story before,” he said with some surprise.

 

Eret clapped him on the shoulder, because he’d wanted to touch him all night. “I’m glad you told it now.”

 

Without food, the ale was hitting him harder and faster than he’d like to admit, and as such he misjudged his distance, stepping a little too far into Gobber’s personal space. He looked down in surprise when he realize he wasn’t standing quite where he was aiming for, only to find Gobber staring slightly up at him with a strange expression—wonder, grief, heat, surprise, all rolled up into one as Eret registered the heat of the air between them, the solidity of Gobber’s body beneath Eret’s palm. And Eret had to do _something_ , something to break the drum-head tension that had stretched itself across his chest—

 

Outside, Grump let out what might have been the loudest fart that Eret had ever heard.

 

He jumped back in alarm at the sudden noise, whipping around to face the door in disbelief as his brain caught up with his body.

 

“What in the name of the sea-gods—”

 

Gobber snorted, then chuckled, then cracked up. He cackled so hard he had to put his hand on his bent knees and bend over to breathe. “Aye, Grump’s diet—aha!—Grump’s diet leaves—somethin’ t’be desired on the—hah, the back end, so to speak,” he chortled, wheezing.

 

Eret huffed, then chuckled himself. Little Gods, what a ridiculous situation.

 

“Alright, lad, that’s the end of my night. You’d best stay behind tonight; it’s later than it should be,” Gobber said, rubbing at his eyes. He went for the door and stumbled on his peg.

 

“Right,” Eret agreed, breezing past Gobber to open the door instead and let in Grump and Skullcrusher, who both were happy to come indoors. Gobber looked like he was trying to be exasperated at the help, but was a tad too drunk to pull it off.

 

“Right. Well. Goodnight,” he finally said as Eret barred the door and went to check the shutters like he’d seen Gobber do every other night he’d stayed over.

 

“Sleep well,” Eret said back, and they stood looking at each other from across the room for a half a beat longer than they should have. Gobber made a face like turning away was somehow hard for him, but he was soon tromping up the stairs.

 

Eret sighed, annoyed with himself for a reason he refused to name, and went to bank the fire. He’d been given a lot to think about. He understood what Gobber had meant, though, about even the chance to be part of someone’s home being worth it. He wouldn’t have understood before Berk. He pulled his quilt off the back of the divan and settled in for the night as Gobber’s snores filled the hut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any relations to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental.
> 
> Me, shouting at myself: LET GOBBER SAY 'FUCK'


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Infinite blessings on my coworkers who thought that HTTYD2 was ever a good idea to show for movie night. Special blessings on the coworkers who had not yet seen it and wondered why I spent most of the movie with my hands over my mouth. Final blessings on one particular coworker, who told me afterwards, "Well, I've seen the movie, so I spent most of my time watching you watch it. Infinitely more entertaining."

Days in Berk were not predictable, but they managed to settle into a broad pattern as winter crept in.

 

Eret continued working with Bucket and Mulch—mostly Bucket—to restore the fleet during the day, working to beat the frost. Most evenings, he took his meal at the Great Hall and tried to socialize. He wasn’t sure how well he was doing. His regular table started to fill, though, first with Astrid and Bucket and Mulch, then Fishlegs, then the senior fishing captain Brigette and her husband, and on and on. The dragons often ate apart, and sometimes Eret would sneak down to the common stables and eat with them instead. It was immersion therapy at its most elemental: Skullcrusher and Stormfly were his friends by now, but the rest ranged the gamut from wary wolves to spikey, enthusiastic hounds, and Eret could not yet make himself comfortable in their presence.

 

More nights than not, he and Gobber would end up by the fire in Gobber’s house, Skullcrusher and Grump comfortably ensconced in a corner. They’d talk, drinking and arguing. They traded stories like Eret’s crew had used to—embellished and tall, daring the other to call yak-shit. Some days, Gobber told stories of his, Stoick’s, and Valka’s wild youth, and Eret would dig around the fabricated corners, learning what was true in them.

 

Eret found himself sharing tale after tale of fierce dragon fights—always when Skullcrusher appeared to be asleep, of course. Sometimes, Gobber would do the same.

 

“It’s not often anymore I get to tell these,” Gobber told him with a satisfied sigh as they shared the long bench in front of the fire. “I told the wee ones growin’ up, o’course, but those were the mad folk that grew to make friends with the beasts instead.” He threw a fond look at the snoring Grump. “Not that I mind it, you know, but there’s not much trade in the battles won anymore. The glory ain’t worth the dust.”

 

Eret nodded, understanding. He was learning the way of it, now. He could find honor in this strange peace in Berk, but what was left in a peaceful world for a man whose skills lay in war? Gobber seemed like he knew. He could show Eret, perhaps, what it was to make a life here, after all that he’d sweated and heaved to make of himself had disappeared into the sea with the great Bewilderbeast.

 

No crew, no glory, no skills beyond the clumsy lathe.

 

“I wonder when my luck will run out here,” he muttered into his mug, too relaxed to be on his guard, just into his cups enough to let himself feel morose. “And what depth I’ll have to start from again.”

 

Gobber shot him a sideways look. “What’s all that about, now?”

 

Eret shrugged. “You know. When we’re—when you’re done rebuilding. My crew sailed off without me—and all the luck to them; we’ve no Drago anymore!—so I don’t know what might be next for me. Maybe sign on with a new ship, though I don’t relish the thought of clawing my way up from deckhand. Not again.” He grunted. “Not if there’s a harsher master than I’ve had.”

 

Gobber was straight out glaring at him now. “You mean to tell me you’re off on the tide once we’ve rebuilt? Were you always planning not t’stick around?” His leg tapped ground restlessly, and his hand clenched and unclenched against his thigh. “What about Skullcrusher?”

 

Eret felt a pang as he looked back at the dragon, flat on his back with his belly up. Silly beast. “I don’t know. Can’t take him with me—this is his home.”

 

“And it’s not yours?” Gobber demanded. There was hurt and fury in his eyes, like there had been that day on the beach. Eret didn’t know what to do about it now anymore than he had then.

 

“How could it be?” he asked, then flinched involuntarily as Gobber shot to his feet.

 

“What d’ye mean, ‘how could it be’? Haven’t we made it clear? You’re in our homes and working our boats—”

 

Eret didn’t like being towered over. He stood as well, shoulders stiff, trying not to bristle. “Sure, and what happens when there’s no more boats to fix?”

 

“Then we find you other work!” Gobber roared, throwing up his arms. “We always provide for our own. That’s Hiccup’s watchword, innit, ‘a chief protects his own’!”

 

Eret had no idea how they’d gotten to shouting at each other. “But Hiccup’s not my chief,” he protested, feeling like he was lying.

 

“But _he could be_!” Gobber yelled, matter of fact, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

 

Eret didn’t get it. They should be at each other’s throats right now—or he should have stormed off, left a drunk and angry man to sleep it off. Instead, he and Gobber were shouting each other down, trying to make the other understand. It was important, somehow, that he get his point across.

 

“I don’t want to go, Gobber,” Eret tried to raise his voice, but the words came out almost like a plea.

 

Gobber stomped up to him and shoved his empty mug under Eret’s nose, clearly wishing it was his hook there instead. “Then don’t, you daft man,” he barked. “Don’t make us lose anyone else.”

 

Eret was caught off-guard as Gobber fairly bowled into him, throwing his arms around Eret in a blunt-force embrace. Eret caught him with difficulty, swaying a little from the weight and the drink. God, Gobber was warm, and the power he had over Eret was heady. Even with the height difference, Eret knew Gobber could keep him wherever he wanted him. Instead, though, he was asking.

 

“Me ‘n…’n Skullcrusher. You can’t leave us behind.”

 

“I won’t,” Eret said thickly, knowing he’d just made a promise.  

 

With a wet, phlegmy sniff, Gobber straightened suddenly and shoved himself away from Eret, stomping a few feet away. “Get to bed, and don’t think of sneaking off tonight. I’m gonnae lock up.”

 

Eret watched Gobber stomp off, grumbling and stumbling, and realized he was shaking with the force of relief he felt. He wouldn’t have to leave this strange, honorable peace. He wouldn’t have to leave this man. If he worked at it, a life on Berk was something he could _have_.

 

He could help rebuild it, with a place for him in it.

 

* * *

 

 

When winter—and, he was often told in a patronizing tone, this wasn’t even _true_ winter—hit in full, it did so swiftly and brutally. Life in Berk did as it was wont to do, change but not ever slow down. Rebuilding was turned indoors as much as possible, and work was accomplished between flurries and ice storms that Eret had only ever seen in nightmares. Drago's flotilla on the ice had never seen storms this fierce or cold this bottomless. Eret had not heard more of Hiccup’s grand plan, which he assumed was for the best. He wondered if the weather alone was enough to stop talk of an exodus. Some days, the ocean waves broke on the beach as slush and ice. It was enough to terrify a man.

 

Eret had effectively moved onto Gobber’s divan by now, although Hiccup assured him that should he want it, there would eventually be a home for him to call his own. Eret found that he did want it, badly, but that just building a hut would not be enough.

 

Winter brought with itself a new set of challenges for Berk as a whole. It would be a lean winter altogether, but not insurmountable. Food would be plentiful, if bland. What was more of a concern, however, was water, as the wells froze overnight with an alarming alacrity, and attempts to use dragonfire to keep the stones warm tended to crack them. It meant some of the most clever aqueducts were functionally useless, and water had to be hauled in barrels from the few functioning cisterns.

 

There was no shortage of warmth, at least. Homes, hearths, stables, and even stray sheep were alight with various fires. Eret found himself sticking closer to Skullcrusher than ever before, if only because he was as good as a furnace. Berk in winter was just _miserable_.

 

Snotlout and Tuffnut took every opportunity to laugh at him, of course. He bore it, because they were also the ones who donated old cloaks to him.

 

He and Snotlout, who he’d never quite had the chance to attempt to befriend, sat today on opposite ends of a table in the Great Hall, glancing uneasily at each other while attempting to pursue their duties. Somehow, they’d been tasked with keeping an eye on the youngest set of Berkians while their parents worked to repair roofs that had been damaged in the last bad storm. There had been other Vikings involved as well, Eret was sure of it, but they’d wandered off until it was just Snotlout and Eret, as well as a much younger teenager named Gustav who was barely older than their charges. Gustav was keeping Snotlout busy, so Eret was left to keep six tiny Vikings entertained by himself. He was showing them how to tie knots.

 

“Ingrid, if you use that on your brother, you’ll cut off his circulation,” Eret warned helplessly. Alfred, the boy in question, let out a throaty kid-laugh, clearly very entertained by the way his older sister was trying to tie him to a chair. “Look, at least use a bow on it, that’s better—Severn, you’re doing great, but the tie goes _over_ there, not under.” He caught the youngest, who was barely out of nappies, toddling off to bother a Zippleback who had wandered in and decided to take a nap in a far corner. “Aithusa, no,” he sprinted over to scoop her up as she waved her piece of rope right under the left-most head’s nostrils. “Don’t tickle a sleeping Zippleback. I don’t care how progressive Berk is, that’s wisdom everyone should learn.”

 

Aithusa sniffed, then sneezed all over herself and Eret. Eret sighed, placing her down with the other children.

 

“You probably smell dragon-gas,” he muttered. Heaven knew Zipplebacks stank.

 

“Did you start cooking lunch?” Snotlout said, swaggering over with Gustav in tow. “Smells like it’s burning.”

 

“First, I don’t cook,” Eret grunted at him. “And when would I have had time to do it anyway? While you and Gustav were, what, braiding each other’s hair, I was—”

 

Oh, but it did smell like burning.

 

Head whipping up, Eret searched for the source of the smell. It wasn’t hard—the other end of the hall, which was normally in shadow from the lack of candlelight, was actually black not with shadow but with smoke.

 

“What in Loki’s green—” Snotlout started to curse, eyes widening in surprise.

 

Without warning, the Zippleback in the far corner sneezed as well. It was the sparking head. All Hels broke loose.

 

A fireball of comical proportions hurtled away from the dragon, smacking into a support column. All the kids squealed in delight. Eret sprang into action.

 

Fire was coming at them from both sides, now, and was moving fast. Somehow, without them knowing, lines of had come licking down the walls from wherever it had started in the back. Whatever it had been--a stray cookfire, a careless dragon—neither would have been a problem when Berk’s water wasn’t frozen. Now, however, there was nothing to save them but themselves.

 

Moving fast, Eret snagged a toddler under one arm and Aithusa under the other. “Grab my belt,” he instructed Ingrid, who looked spooked but nodded and did as she was told without fuss. Snotlout was surprisingly levelheaded, and had the other kids well in hand—except Severn, who was wailing and reaching for the Zippleback in the corner.

 

“ _Ham’n’Eggs!_ ” he screeched, tears running down his face.

 

“Dung, I’ll get him,” Gustav said, looking between the crying child and the bewildered but stationary dragon. Taking a deep breath, he sprinted off as fast as his lanky legs would carry him.

 

“Kid!” Eret hollered after Gustav, then inhaled a hit of black smoke and heaved out a retching cough. “Pox. Alright, let’s move!” He would come back for Gustav as soon as the others were safe.

 

He shuffled them through a rapidly deteriorating space, but managed to get all three of his charges into the bright, cold sun. Snotlout was on his heels. They delivered the wide-eyed but unharmed children to the bottom of the first set of stone stairs. Concerned Vikings, seeing the conflagration that looked even more dramatic from the outside, came running up the steps to investigate. Eret handed off kids to various curious Berkians as Gobber sprinted unevenly up to meet them.

 

“Everyone out?” Gobber demanded.

 

Eret should his head. “Gustav,” he reported, pointing back at the building. “I have to go back in for—” he doubled over, coughing violently.

 

“I’ll be right back,” Gobber told him, whacking him on the back with force and speeding off—back into a burning building.

 

Eret gasped in a breath, fighting for control over his own lungs. He was teary with the strain of it when he straightened up, just in time to see Gobber disappear inside the smoking doors.

 

“Who’s nanny-brained _now_?” Eret groaned, earning himself a sideways look from Snotlout. He didn’t care. He was too busy watching the door.

 

Time slowed—Eret could count whole years between his heartbeats. He was furious. How could Gobber have just run in there like a diving Razorwhip? And where was he now? Surely Gustav couldn’t have been too much behind them, even with the unfortunately-named Zippleback in tow. There was shouting behind Eret, likely some kind of coordination of firefighting, but Eret needed to _keep watching the—_

 

There! Stumbling into the light was a bedraggled but living Gustav, and a still-bewildered Ham’n’Eggs. Eret sagged, relieved. And so behind them must be—

 

\--but as Gustav tumbled down the steps, Gobber didn’t emerge from behind him. Eret waited one interminable heartbeat, then two. Three passed, and Gobber didn’t come out, and then the entire scene reverberated with the horrifying _crack_ of something heavy and load-bearing breaking in two. The Great Hall itself shuddered, and a piece of the ceiling caved in.

 

 _We can’t lose anyone else_ , Astrid had told Eret on the beach after his sparring with Minnowbear.

 

Eret charged back up the steps.

 

* * *

 

Eret’s chest was tight, and he tasted iron and ash, even before he hit the doors. This was not like beach; this was not panic at what he would find. It was what he might _not._

The Hall was completely engulfed in smoke by now, so thickly that Eret couldn’t gauge the extent of the flames by sight. He heard cracking and creaking around him, but could do nothing more than send a supplication to Balder to keep them safe.

 

“Gobber!” he shouted into the inferno. The roar of heat sucked the air out of the space, and the sound out of his lungs. Furious and terrified, Eret stumbled on.

 

He headed back towards where he’d left Gustav, hoping perhaps to retrace Gobber’s path of rescue, but had to dodge falling debris as he did. His lungs were burning and his skin felt halfway there. Skidding, he took a turn too hard and ran headlong into a thick, heavy obstacle.

 

“Ngh!”

 

Eret hit the floor, and Gobber did too—they’d run directly into each other in the smoke.

 

“Gods, Gobber--!”

 

“Eret?” Gobber demanded, then started hacking. “Get— _out—_!”

 

“With you,” Eret managed to wheeze, then saw what Gobber was carrying, why he hadn’t come out with Gustav—a tiny, soot-covered Terror huddled in Gobber’s arms. Even surrounded by Hel, Eret felt a fondness overwhelm him for just a moment before plummeting straight into horror as a huge _crack_ sounded directly above their heads.

 

“I’m slow—get _out_!” Gobber yelled, trying to thrust the Terror at Eret. Eret didn’t have time to argue, or to process the rage that followed that absolutely _stupid_ suggestion. He grabbed Gobber by the elbow and began hauling him toward the shaft of daylight that was all that was left of a way out.

 

An even louder _crack_ sounded, loud enough to be painful, followed by a hideous whine.

 

“Gobber!” Eret shouted, but there wasn’t time. Eret shoved the man out of the way with all of his strength, putting his own body in the way and watching with satisfaction as Gobber stumbled almost to the door. Then he gasped a choked breath as the beam that had fallen hit him across the shoulders in a dead weight.

 

Eret let out a punched out sound, his lungs seizing. He had no idea how he remained on his feet, but he _did_ , a whole section of wall and roof driving him down, the weight of the sky across his back but stopping just short of hitting Gobber.

 

Gobber’s blue eyes went wide and then flicked out over Eret’s head.

 

“Hiccup!” Gobber yelled desperately, which was confusing—but then it didn’t matter as something sharp and hard and hot struck Eret in the head hard enough to make him retch. Darkness came quickly.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But, like, on the bright side, now you know how many chapters are left, right?


	7. Chapter 7

Eret was burning.

 

It shouldn’t have been a surprise, but it was, because it wasn't right. He should be dead, charred, his whole body gone, but instead it was just his heart.

 

Why was his heart burning? Why did he smell flesh and hair, why was he screaming?

 

"Disappointing," a low voice declaimed, bored. Eret screamed louder, his body rigid with pure, instinctual terror. Casual cruelty without reason could not be reasoned with, even for a gifted tongue like Eret's. They treated dragons like this, not men.

 

"You will remember what happens when you disappoint me," Drago told him, pushing him down, down, down into dark and heat and –

 

"--Eret! Eret, lad, be still!"

 

Eret took a deep gasp of air. The shock that breathing  _didn’t hurt_ was coupled with pain slamming down on him from every other direction, and he let out a pathetic groan that he had no way of keeping in.

 

“Aye, it smarts, don’ it?” The voice was trying to be jovial, but it came out shaken.

 

“Gobber?” Eret asked, turning to look at him. He let out a whine as his brain shattered like pottery.

 

“Don’t move, you mutton-head!” Gobber yelped, and Eret heard him shuffle to his feet and flail around the bed, not quite touching Eret but clearly wanting to grab him. He realized he had shut his eyes—it didn’t help much, but the light even in that dim room was too much for him to stand.

 

He didn’t realize he had moved his hand until it was covering Gobber’s, the man’s rough, broad palm just slightly bigger than his. Eret sighed. Nothing stopped hurting, but it was suddenly just enough to bear.

 

“ _Gods_ ,” Gobber whispered, then louder: “I should get Gothi.”

 

Eret didn’t dare shake his head. He squeezed Gobber’s hand tighter.

 

“Tell me. How bad,” he managed. Gobber was here, was safe, but was he hurt? Was Gustav? The Terror?

 

“You got hit with an entire ceiling just as Hiccup and the rest of them came in with th’ bucket brigade,” Gobber spat, and he sounded…thick, his voice straining to come out like stopped honey. He sounded angry and sad and shaken.

 

Eret made a noise of frustration. “No, the others. The dragon. An’ you.”

 

There was a moment of silence, and it spooked Eret so much that he almost opened his eyes, but then Gobber heaved a deep sigh. “No injuries but smoke.” Now he just sounded tired. “Nothin’ but our newest Viking trying to prove himself a hero.”

 

Eret couldn’t help but slit his eyes open just a little so he could grin stupidly at Gobber. “Takes more’n a little fire to kill me.”

 

Gobber didn’t look amused. In fact, his jaw clenched and he glared at the far wall, not deigning to even acknowledge Eret’s smile. “Aye. That’s clear.” He paused, the silence rife with meaning. “That’s a nasty burn you have on you.”

 

The fever-dream Eret had woken from prompted him easily; he knew Gobber wasn’t referring to some new injury but instead an old, deep one. His brand. He’d never shown it to Gobber, had he?

 

“It’s what happens when you return to Drago empty-handed,” Eret said, patting the scarred tissue absently. It was exposed, which was a miracle itself as a huge swath of his chest seemed covered in bandages.

 

Gobber’s voice dropped into a growl. “Drago did that to you?”

 

Eret made an assenting noise, eyes sliding back closed. “It was him. I refuse to blame my crew. They were the ones who held me down. He told them to. They didn’t have any choice.”

 

“There’s _always_ a choice,” Gobber snapped.

 

But there hadn’t been. Eret had seen the pain in his bosun Adelred’s expression as the man held the strip of leather in Eret’s mouth to stop him from cracking his own teeth or biting off his tongue. Eret had borne the punishment expressly so his crew didn’t have to. Every one of them had a hand on his body as the heated iron pushed into his skin. They held him down as he thrashed and screamed—but he did not shame himself, or lose control of his bowels like some others. Afterward, he stood on his own, shaken and weak. He bowed to his master and tended to his own wounds. They’d let him, and when he strode back onto his ship, they all raised their fists to their hearts for him. He’d survived. There was no shame in surviving.

 

“I’ll kill him,” Gobber promised with a helpless edge to his voice.

 

“He’s already dead,” Eret sighed. His eyelids felt heavy. He couldn’t open them again even if he wanted to.

 

“I heard ye callin’ out in yer sleep. He may be dead out there, but not in here.” Gobber didn’t touch Eret’s forehead, but it was clear that he was gesturing to it.

 

“So kill ‘im there,” Eret said, which made a great deal of sense to him as exhaustion slammed into him. He was awake one moment, and the next he was sliding off the steep cliff of unconsciousness. He squeezed Gobber’s hand; he didn’t know if the man replied.

 

Eret didn’t fight the darkness. He wasn’t afraid to dream.

 

\----____----

 

He was sure he woke up several times after that, but he remembered none of them, just the throbbing sensations of skin burns and a headache that he couldn’t escape. Gothi was there—at least, he thought so, else those were dragon talons poking and prodding at him.

 

He never caught Gobber beside his bed again, but Eret though he spied glimpses of him coming up the stair, or skulking in the corner. Still, When Eret woke fully, feeling finally lucid once more, he was alone.

 

It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. In fact, it was terrifying. The room around him held the heavy stiffness of a sick-room, a dim corner outside the flow of the day-to-day. Being in the grey light here felt, at first impression, like being abandoned. And Eret was trapped here—even though he was awake, the pain shimmering through him was throwing him off. The generalized discomfort resolved into various aches and burns, and one particularly deep and awful sensation that became evident around his right knee would absolutely confine Eret to bed, even if he’d had the strength to move.

 

Eret was sure he was going to panic right there— _a downed dragon is a dead dragon—_ but as he cast his gaze around for anything around him that he could use to lever himself to his feet, details came to him that stopped his frenzied reaction.

 

He knew the heft and the weight of the furniture in the corner. The chair that was pulled up to his bed was familiar, as was the pattern and the color of the quilt atop him. The way the light streamed through a window behind his head but ricocheted off a mirror on the other side of the rafters, and the fact that in front of him lay only a low half-wall and a set of stairs out of what must have been a loft—all this told him, finally, where he was. He was in Gobber’s home, in Gobber’s bed, and although he’d never thought he’d be here in this particular circumstance, it was enough to still the panicked breaths in his chest.

 

He was where he should be. He would not be abandoned.

 

He drifted but did not quite fall back asleep, and soon the sound of a door opening greeted him, as well as the distinct, rapid panting of Grump and the tap-thump of Gobber’s footsteps. He sounded like he was alone, and after some shuffling and groaning, the man came plodding up the stairs.

 

Eret had one brief urge to play dead, but instead schooled his face into a smirk as Gobber’s head emerged above the top step. “Still alive,” he teased.

 

Gobber’s brief surprise transformed into a fierce scowl. “Aye, a miracle, that. Especially insistin’ as you do on running headfirst into danger.”

 

“You can be mad about the Scauldron all you want, but it was me or you in there this time, and I’m going to choose you every time,” Eret told him.

 

The scowl deepened. “Of all the irresponsible—”

 

“No, I’m not going to sit here and get lectured,” Eret interrupted, feeling good, feeling like there was ice in his veins, bracing him. “You charged in there first, and no one went after you.”

 

Gobber had reached the end of the bed. He stiffened, rearing back. “No one takes _care_ of me,” he said, offended.

 

“ _I_ take care of you,” Eret returned, making the decision right there and then. His men might be gone, and his ship, but this was one responsibility that he could take on of his own volition.

 

“You don’t get to make that decision,” Gobber argued, charging over to Eret’s side, almost looking ready to take a swing. Instead, he shoved a finger in Eret’s face, leaning down close to him. “You don’t get to decide—”

 

Eret was done with this argument. “Already did,” he said smugly, and grabbed Gobber’s wrist from where it was waving in his face. With a swift jerk—and it hurt, but Eret wasn’t going to let that deter him—he had Gobber pulled off-balance so the man had to plant a knee on the bed to keep upright. Shifting his grip, Eret yanked Gobber down into a fierce kiss.

 

It was a hard, sharp thing at first, a fight. That was fine. Eret didn’t mind a little fight in bed. He wrapped his free hand around the back of Gobber’s neck, mauling him into a better position, turning his face so that Eret could kiss him as hard and deep as he had wanted to for weeks. Gobber made a noise, tried to say something, but Eret just stroked the back of his neck with a thumb and Gobber just…gave in. In moments, he was kissing back.

 

This was an entirely new kind of fight—instead of trying to pull away, Gobber pressed forward, using his weight and leverage to push Eret into the pillow and take his mouth. Eret made an encouraging noise, licking playfully at Gobber’s lips, but apparently that was too much for the man, and Gobber ripped himself away from the kiss. He held himself over Eret on the bed, panting hard, eyes wide and pupils blown.

 

Eret grinned dopily at Gobber, pointedly ignoring his pounding headache.

 

“I get to take care of you,” he repeated.

 

“That’s…not gonnae work,” Gobber said slowly, still blinking at Eret and looking a little like he was the one with the head injury.

 

Eret shook his head. “I can be patient. I’m not asking for anything you can’t give, or anything you don’t want to. I know I can’t compete with a dead man.”

 

Gobber sent him a look that wasn’t angry, or even sad, just considering. “So you’ll just do tha’ for me, look out for me, even if I can’t do nothin’ back for you.”

 

“Yes, Gobber,” Eret explained as patiently as he could. “Because that’s what carin’ for someone is about. I think you’ll find you understand that a little too well.”

 

He knew he was making a mess of his words, that maybe he should be hinting much more subtly that he knew where Gobber stood, what baggage was in their way. He shouldn’t just call the man out to his face.

 

But nothing about Gobber was subtle, and neither was anything about Eret, and he wasn’t ever good at that diplomacy dreck anyway.

 

And Gobber wasn’t getting angry. Surely that was something.

 

“Still won’t work,” Gobber repeated, but it was less adamant this time. He was at least half-talking to himself.

 

“Why not,” Eret demanded, ready to argue with anything that Gobber threw out him.

 

Gobber sent him an unimpressed look. “F’r one, I’d only ever bottom for one man.”

 

“I never asked you to bottom.”

 

That was, apparently, what threw Gobber off for good. The man was still half-kneeling on the bed, mouth open and bright eyes blinking. “Was that really th’best argument you had?” Eret asked, annoyed. “What were you thinkin’ I was gonna say?”

 

“I—you—a man like you—” Gobber sputtered.

 

“Doesn’t like it up the arse? Is that what you’re implying?”

 

“Well, yeah! You’re bigger’n a Gronkle, you’re a sailor an’ a hunter, and ye—”

 

“You just told me you’d take it for Stoick the Vast, and now you’re gonna lecture me about how a man can’t like to be fucked?” Eret asked, just to be sure.

 

“I’m not having this conversation at all, if’n I can help it!” Gobber shouted, finally standing up and throwing up his hands.

 

“Don’t walk away when I can’t follow, it’s not fair,” Eret yelled in frustration, wrestling with the quilt draped across him. “Don’t think for a minute that I won’t stand up and—”

 

“Oh don’t you dare—”

 

“Gobber?”

 

A new voice entered the house, stopping the argument cold.

 

Gobber swore under his breath, then raised his voice. “Aye, Hiccup?”

 

“We aren’t done, Gobber,” Eret told him placidly.

 

“We are for now,” Gobber groused back. He made for the stairs.

 

“Is that Eret’s voice? Is he awake?” Hiccup asked. The concern in his tone seemed genuine, which was gratifying, if entirely too much attention for Eret’s taste.

 

“Aye, and bein’ a pain,” Gobber grumbled. “Come up here’n lecture him; nothin’ I say is gettin’ through and you could talk a man to death.”

 

“Not if they’re a Viking,” Eret thought he heard Hiccup mutter, but then the Chief was at the head of the stairs, beaming at Eret. “That stunt you pulled there…well, it might have saved Gobber’s life. I have nothing but thanks for you.”

 

The sound of Gobber _growling_ in response made Eret even more pleased than the compliment.

 

\----____----

 

Eret didn’t—couldn’t—stay awake much longer than that, and what followed was several days of frustrating boredom coupled with a fatigue that would have been alarming, if it weren’t for Gothi every once and awhile coming to remind him that he was doing fine and both his head and his burns were healing the way they should be. At least, he was pretty sure that was what she was saying—she didn’t have Gobber with her as a translator. In fact, Eret hadn’t seen much of Gobber at all.

 

This was clearly on purpose, and Eret was going to fight with him just as soon as he could get out of bed.

 

Eret thought it would help that he was clearly stealing Gobber’s bed to recuperate, but it seemed like the man had taken up residence on the divan instead. Eret wasn’t sure, as he still wasn’t able to keep awake for any reasonable schedule or length of time, but some nights he would be pulled from a dream by the door opening and closing or the sound of heavy snoring. He wanted to get up, to investigate, but somehow the sounds would instead send him peacefully back to sleep.

 

Hiccup came often. Eret couldn’t bring himself to stop being obsequious around him, especially not when the Nightfury perched like a watchful shadow behind him. It felt worse that Hiccup seemed to take a liking to him, because Eret wanted to like him back. He was young, his humor wicked and his regard warm, but Eret found his mind wandering back to Drago and the horrors, real and products of his nightmares, that a man with a dragon as his call could perpetrate. He had forgotten for some time about the burns on his chest, but they ached now with the rest of his body in a reminder not to forget his place.

 

He finally managed to stay awake for most of an afternoon, and was hideously bored by the end of it, despite the whittling that Mulch had passed him when he and Bucket came to see him and hasten him back to work. Still, that meant he heard clearly when Gobber finally came home.

 

Eret debated how to approach the fight that he was gearing up to have. He waited for Gobber settle, letting both Grump and what sounded like Skullcrusher into the hut, starting up a fire, unstoppering his ale barrel.

 

“If you don’t skulking and come up here to talk to me, I’ll come down there!” he hollered down the stairs.

 

Silence crashed down onto the hut for a long, long pause.

 

“Eret—ah, didn’t know y’were awake. Here, let me get Gothi—”

 

“For a Viking, you’re sure a coward!”

 

Now that got a reaction.

 

“ _What_ did y’say t’me now?” Gobber roared, and there was the sound of uneven stomping up the stairs. “I’ll take it out on your hide, even if y’are injured—”

 

He stopped cold at the stop of the steps, likely catching sight of Eret’s wicked smirk. “Oh, I walked intae that one,” he muttered. He stood splay-legged and square-shouldered, looking like a man ready for a fight. “Well. I’m here. Not—not _skulking_ ,” he spat out the word in disgust. “So have at me, then.”

 

Eret hadn’t thought past getting Gobber to stay _put_. Still, he was ready to put in a valiant effort—but apparently the yelling had not been fantastic for his head, and he shuddered hard as a slash of pain ripped across this inside of his skull.

 

“ _Yak-dung_ ,” Gobber cursed, but it sounded worried.

 

Eret realized he had closed his eyes against the headache only when he felt Gobber’s hand on his shoulder, felt the weight of the man settling on the edge of the bed.

 

“M’fine,” Eret muttered, wanting to argue, not sit here, useless and in pain.

 

Gobber just scoffed. “Aye, ye look it.” He sighed. “What do you need me to do?”

 

“Stay,” Eret said, and it came out too honest. He wanted to swallow the whimper in his voice right back down, but there it was, lingering between them, real and growing larger with every heartbeat. He kept his eyes shut, waiting to be berated some more.

 

Instead, a soft and tired sigh came from the man next to him. Then, Gobber left the bed altogether. The sound of his prosthetic on the stair was loud.

 

Eret cringed, easing himself back so he was laying down properly again, wanting nothing more than to be swallowed by the bed for good so that he would never, ever have to look Gobber in the eyes again. He hadn’t meant to, but he had told Gobber the bare and absolute a truth.

 

If he’d been flirting, cajoling as he had tried to after their kiss—well, he’d have expected resistance, a push and pull, a steady wearing down. It would have been alright to negotiate with all of his bravado intact, all the sacrifices spread out on the board like a game of Maces and Talons. Instead, like the greenest trader, he’d made his honest offer, bare to the bone and with nothing else to give. It was no wonder it had been rejected outright. 

 

He was so lost in his own mortification that he didn’t hear the footsteps start up again, until the man stood over him once more.

 

“Well, then. Budge over. I’d like mah bed back,” Gobber said gruffly.

 

Eret’s eyes flew open. The man had a half-repaired shirt held in his hook and a needle and thread in his hand.

 

“I—”

 

“No. No more arguin’,” Gobber gave his ultimatum. “Or else I’m right out again, because clearly it isn’t doin’ you any good to be yellin’ your fool head off.”

 

“You’re just gonna…” Eret trailed off, because he didn’t actually understand what was happening.

 

“Close your eyes, shut yer gob, and let me do my chores in peace,” Gobber replied. Eret goggled. Gobber sighed dramatically and shoved him back against the pillows a little. “Gothi told me you still need more rest, so even if yer not sleepy just lay there with yer eyes closed.”

 

Eret had no recourse but to do as he was told. When he stretched out on his side, turned in to face toward Gobber, he felt the radiating heat from the man’s hip. Experimentally, he shifted his leg into a position that was more comfortable, but also brushed up against Gobber’s shin. Gobber didn’t look up from his needlework, but he pressed himself just a little more firmly against Eret.

 

Eret didn’t think he could sleep much more than he had this week, but in moments he was gone. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he felt fingers carding through his hair.

 

\----____----

 

When he woke again, not much time had passed. The wall sconces were still lit, the fire burned down low, and Gobber was asleep sitting up with his head thrown back and his needlework slipping out of his lax grip.

 

Eret had meant to have a talk with Gobber, but this outcome was not to be scoffed at. He didn’t bother resisting his urge to put his hand on Gobber’s thigh, feeling the powerful muscles beneath his clothes and the softness of fat.

 

Eret was bleary, warm, and content. He also didn’t realize he was kneading Gobber’s thigh until he felt a hand over his, and Gobber’s regard upon him. The man’s head was still tilted back, but his eyes were slitted open and he was staring sleepily at him.

 

“What do y’mean tae do?” Gobber asked softly. He sounded good, his voice deep and rough with sleep.

 

Shifting so he was sitting up, Eret slid his left hand up Gobber’s thigh, then, struck with a mad urge, used his right hand to slide the back of his knuckles up Gobber’s vulnerable throat. Their eyes locked, and Eret would not be the first to look away.

 

And, gods help him, he _liked_ what he saw. Gobber’s pupils were blown and dark, his lips parted, and he looked at Eret like he wanted either to strike him or consume him. Eret felt himself harden at just the thought.

 

Slowly, letting Gobber make up his mind or make this a fight, Eret leaned in. Gobber didn’t move except to suck in a quick breath. Emboldened, Eret kissed him.

 

This kiss was a seduction. He rose over Gobber, angling down, taking control but daring the other man to wrench it back. He kissed Gobber with promise and intent, showing him that his affection was neither fleeting nor a fluke. Both hands came up to the sides of Gobber’s face and he stroked his thumbs across Gobber’s cheeks, enjoying the feeling of facial hair against his skin. Then, carefully, testing both the state of his own body and the limits of the liberties he was taking, he slid his other leg up and over, straddling Gobber’s lap and grinding down against him. His knee twinged but held, and then the discomfort was overcome by the warm pleasure of his position.

 

With a sound of surrender, Gobber finally kissed back.

 

Apparently, seduction was not in the man’s vocabulary, but conquest was. Gobber slid his hooked arm around to Eret’s ass, hauling him against his body. He tangled his fingers into Eret’s hair, tugging Eret into a more pleasing angle and throwing him just off-balance enough that it was all Eret could do to hold on.

 

Eret almost broke the kiss from grinning too hard. Pressing his luck, he used his new angle to shove his hard-on against Gobber’s soft abdomen, making it clear what direction he wanted this encounter to go. Gobber growled into the kiss. Eret liked the sound and the sensation, so he did it again.

 

The hand in his hair wrenched him back.

 

“You’d best quit while you’re ahead, r’else I’m not responsible for—”

 

“I _dare_ you,” Eret said, this time unable to repress his wild grin. “You don’t think I can but I want it. Want you.” To punctuate his point, he slid back from Gobber just a little and reached down to cup him through his trousers. “And I’d say you want me back.”

 

Gobber shuddered, letting his eyes slip shut. “Aye, that’s never been the question,” he said in a strangled voice.

 

Eret made a note to follow that line of thinking later. Right now, he was going to get off, and he was taking Gobber with him. Whatever the man needed, Eret was going to make it so, and right now Gobber clearly needed to be bedded, hard. Nothing assuaged worry like a spectacular orgasm.

 

He rolled off Gobber’s lap, yanking at the man’s shoulder to get him to follow. Predictably, Gobber would not be moved against his will, but Eret was alright with that. He was going to make Gobber want it.

 

He didn’t have a shirt, as he’d been healing the burns he’d sustained along his chest and back, and although the damage was still grotesque-looking, he decided there was no helping it and turned to what he could control—namely, shucking his pants as quickly as he could. As he kicked them off, Gobber still hadn’t moved but was definitely staring at him. Eret shoved his smallclothes down as well, then stretched decadently on the bed, his arms brushing at Gobber’s side and his groan only slightly theatrical—it felt good to stretch out, especially with such an appreciative audience.

 

What felt even better was his hand on his hard cock, and he thrust up into his fist a few times, enjoying the feel of it. It was good enough to be watched, he decided, although he hoped that—

 

The sound that tore out of Gobber’s chest was furious and desperate. The man lunged at Eret. In a flash, he was astride Eret’s body, batting his hand out of the way so he could stroke Eret’s cock instead. Eret rewarded him with a decadent noise and a shudder at the feeling of Gobber’s rough skin against him.

 

Once the man was all-in, it was clear that he did nothing by halves. Gobber was _everywhere,_ his mouth on Eret’s, kissing him with a passion that bordered on violence, his hook stroking dangerously but oh-so-gently across Eret’s biceps. He thrust himself, still clothed, against Eret’s thigh in time with his strokes, and Eret loved the feeling of the man completely losing control above him. Gobber was treating him like Eret was a given, was _his_ —and Eret was. Gobber didn’t need to be careful with him, to seduce him or make him see that Gobber was worth his time. Eret already knew what he wanted. He wanted anything and _everything_ that Gobber could give him.

 

Eret leaned up, straining his abs as he spoke into Gobber’s ear. “Pants off. Now.”

 

“Bossy,” Gobber huffed, but he didn’t hesitate to comply. Eret regretted calling him off even for a moment, but it wasn’t long before Gobber was naked before him.

 

Eret had always found men like Gobber attractive—solid, strength in every taut and ill-used muscle, covered in hair and scars and marks of a life lived hard. He got off on the power being used to put him where they wanted him.

 

Gobber eclipsed all of the other men who had caught his eye, though, and Eret wasn’t sure if it was because, beneath the trappings of the body that was once more stretched out overtop him, Eret had already seen so much of his heart.

 

“Hands on the wall,” Gobber growled in Eret’s ear, and Eret eagerly complied, stretching his arms over his head so they touched the wall behind him. “Don’t move them.”

 

Eret flushed hot as Gobber slid his hand up Eret’s neck, not hurting him, just resting his grip on Eret’s throat and giving him an idea of what he _could_ do. Eret’s breath left him in a strangled moan. He wanted this so _badly_ , to have Gobber treat him like Eret was his to use.

 

Gobber’s eyes had darkened to almost black. “I can’t – I won’t be able to – I’m not _nice_ ,” Gobber finally got out.

 

“ _Fuck me_ ,” Eret ordered.

 

Gobber let out a snarl and ground his hips against Eret’s. _Finally_.

 

Their coupling was rough and hard, but it was exactly what Eret had needed. Gobber rose above him, fisting their cocks in his broad hand, using spit and sweat and precome to slick their movements. Eret hitched his hips but couldn’t get the leverage he needed with his hands where they were. The gleam in Gobber’s eyes when he noticed the strain was wicked. He increased his pace, leaning down at intervals to lick and bite at Eret’s collarbone, his neck. Eret let out a noise that was _not_ a whine came _hard_ in minutes, his vision swimming as his body shook against the onslaught of feeling. Gobber groaned in answer, moving so he was instead kneeling over Eret’s hips, then stroked himself roughly once, twice, before he too shuddered and came. Hot spend fell on Eret’s stomach and abs, and he watched hungrily as it dripped down Gobber’s half-softened shaft.

 

Gobber blinked at Eret, clearly taking in the view, the mess that he made. His eyes were narrowed in satisfaction.

 

Eret commended himself for his patience thus far and immediately threw it to the wind. He surged up, unable to quite unseat Gobber but throwing him off just a little. Eret put his hand on the side of Gobber’s face and kissed him hard and wet, a reward for giving in and gratitude for a particularly incandescent orgasm. The sound Gobber made was a surrender, or as good as one. Eret pulled back grinning, unable not to look smug as he leaned back against the pillows.

 

“That—” Gobber said, looking dumb-struck.

 

“Yep,” Eret agreed. He should have been trying to figure out how he was going to wipe the cum off his skin, but the sensation and scent was so good, so missed, that he was in no hurry.

 

Gobber slid off the bed, unsteady. “I’ll be—” he couldn’t quite finished, stomping down the stairs with a sound of frustration.

 

Eret sighed a little and let him go collect himself. He was a bit worried that Gobber wouldn’t come back this time, but he didn’t have to worry for long. Gobber was up the stairs in short order, bearing a jar of water and a wet cloth. He dropped it on Eret’s stomach, and Eret wheezed at how cold it was, but the look in Gobber’s eyes told him that maybe that was on purpose.

 

And, victory of victories, Gobber eventually slid back under the quilt, draping it over Eret as well after he had cleaned himself off. Gobber blew out the candle on the bedside, casting the room into a grey glow lit only by the smouldering hearthfire downstairs.

 

For a long moment, Gobber lay stiff on his back, staring at the ceiling. There was a hesitation in him and now that Eret had his way with him, he felt a sense of sympathy. He tugged at Gobber’s shoulder.

 

“Come on,” he encouraged softly. Gobber came, and to Eret’s relief and pleasure, was easily maneuvered so that he was turned to wrap around Eret’s back, his arm thrown over Eret’s waist. There was a deep sigh against Eret’s neck that made him shiver, and then Gobber clutched him hard to his body.

 

Eret couldn’t stop his shuddering and hoped that Gobber would leave him with the illusion of it being unnoticed.

 

“Sleep,” Gobber muttered behind Eret’s ear.

 

Eret was so sated and wrung out that he had to obey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Should I say 'You're Welcome' or 'I'm sorry'?
> 
> Over-under on me finishing the last chapter before I am supposed to post it on Saturday? Especially considering I'll be in Canada most of the week? 
> 
> I honestly almost didn't get this one out in time. I was at a tournament this weekend and I think I broke my toe? It is a little bit of a concerning color but I can't go to Urgent Care until tomorrow morning, womp womp. I hate being an adult.


	8. Chapter 8

It had been such a long time since Eret had woken to the luxury of a warm body beneath him, and for a moment he floated contentedly in a place between sleep and awareness. There was a shoulder beneath his head, a round stomach and coarse hair beneath his fingers, and a truly horrific snoring in his ear.

 

Ah. Right.

 

Eret tried to make his body relax—he had tensed up, suddenly and painfully. He couldn’t quite manage it, however, certain that these warm minutes were numbered. As soon as Gobber woke, he would have a fight on his hands, one way or another.

 

Well, it was a fight he was ready to barrel into. He’d wear Gobber down eventually. Vikings weren’t the only stubborn sons of sailors out there.

 

One blessing of the day was that he finally, _finally_ felt steady enough to try the stairs. He was certainly tired of the chamber pot, and decided that one way or the other, he was making it to the outhouse.

 

His knees were wobbly, sure, and his side ached, but he chalked it up to inactivity. And everything was _fine_ , until he reached the stairs.

 

 Going downward was going to be a challenge. One step down and his head _spun_. Growling in frustration and entirely unwilling to turn back, Eret sat down petulantly on the top step and scooted himself down to the next on his arse. It was wholly undignified and he would care later, but right now he didn’t give a Singetail shit.

 

When he reached the last step, he was sweating and still a bit dizzy, but was mostly smug. He’d stand up in…just a moment. Eret hadn’t realized that both Grump and Skullcrusher were in the house until Skullcrusher was in his face, snuffling concernedly at him.

 

“No, no, I’m fine,” he told Skullcrusher, patting him roughly on the faceplate. “I just need to…stand.”

 

Skullcrusher butted his head against Eret’s arm, nosing underneath it.

 

“Skullcrusher, oi—” Eret said, the power in the Rumblehorn a tad bit too much for him to handle as he was. Then he paused.

 

“I’m talking to you like a person,” he said out loud.

 

Skullcrusher snorted and continued butting at Eret’s arm.

 

“I—and you’re responding?” he questioned, just to be sure.

 

Skullcrusher let out a deep sigh and stopped what he was doing so he could look Eret directly in the eyes.

 

“Well,” was all that Eret could think of to say. He reached out an arm. “Hand up?”

 

Skullcrusher nosed at him again, and this time Eret got that that had been Skullcrusher’s plan all along. He grabbed the dragon’s faceplate and let him pull him to his feet.

 

“Thank you,” Eret muttered, and meant it.

 

It was infinitely more embarrassing to relieve himself while leaning on Skullcrusher now that his brain was catching up to what his—friend?—had been telling him all along. Pissing while too weak to stand wasn’t the greatest place to be having this revelation, but he was resigned. Something had happened last night, more than just a release of tension, and today would see the consequences. Eret was grateful for his unexpected ally.

 

He was also freezing his stones off and had stumbled outside without a shirt or boots on. Even Skullcrusher’s bulk wasn’t enough to dispel the chill. He didn’t delay getting back inside, and was surprised to find a bleary-eyed Gobber standing over a boiling kettle of water.

 

“Tea,” he grunted at Eret, clearly not quite awake.

 

Eret made an answering noise and let Skullcrusher lower him onto a stool near the fire.

 

For long moments, the only sound was Skullcrusher’s heavy breathing and a constant snore from Grump’s bulk. Eret was surprised by how awkward he felt, but he wanted Gobber to say _something_ , to acknowledge last night and put them on solid footing again.

 

Gobber, apparently, was oblivious, staring at the kettle until it bubbled and taking long moments to brew yak butter tea _just so_. It was only when he turn around again, two mugs in hand, that he seemed to register that Eret had been sitting there the entire time.

 

“Ah,” he said.

 

Eret raised an eyebrow.

 

Gobber wasn’t quite looking at him, though. His hand shook as he set down both the mugs on the table, eyes fixed on Eret’s bare chest.

 

Eret’s brand throbbed in sympathy. He rubbed it without thinking and in a moment Gobber was upon him, rough hand over Eret’s, just above his heart.

 

“This,” Gobber started, voice morning-rough. “You don’t gotta worry about this ever again. Not—” he swallowed. “Not from Hiccup. He’s not that way.”

 

Eret shrugged, knowing Gobber was right, but unable to voice agreement still.

 

“Ah,” Gobber said again, his fingers curling around Eret’s but still unable to meet his eyes. “Not while I’m around, either, y’ken.”

 

It came to Eret then that Gobber was the one to be trusted most of all. Eret knew, _felt_ , that this man had the strength to take him apart. The crew that Eret would have given his life for had held him down and Eret had forgiven them because it would have been worse in every way to have them hurt. Gobber, unlike them, could not be forgiven, for the simple reason that he could not harm Eret in the first place. He would not bow to a man who ordered torture. It wasn’t in him.

 

A tension that Eret hadn’t even known existed slid from his shoulders as he looked at Gobber and felt something settle deep inside him. Eret did not believe the things that his own brain told him, who was safe and who was not. Who Eret did believe, however, was Gobber. If Gobber told Eret he was safe, then he was. It was as simple as that.

 

Eret used his free hand to ease Gobber down for a kiss as soft and sweet as he was capable of.

 

When Gobber pulled back, his eyes were a mess.

 

“I’ll never stop loving him,” Gobber told Eret plaintively, voice hard, jaw trembling.

 

“You keep denying me things I never asked for,” Eret replied. “All I ever asked you for was a kiss.”

 

That was a lie. He _had_ asked for more than that. He asked for a chance, and a home, and for Berk to keep him. But he never asked for Gobber to be anything other than who he was.

 

“Aye, ye’ll get that,” Gobber said softly. “That, I’ll not deny you.”

 

He proved it, kissing Eret with a reverence he had not through to expect. It felt like laying a foundation, like the first of many more to come.

 

* * *

 

 

**Epilogue**

Neither Astrid nor Eret were expecting the knock at Astrid’s—their?—door.

 

Neither of them were particularly pleased, either. The knock was interrupting the important business of  them sitting at the eating table and staring at each other, willing the other one to be the one to put on water for tea. It had been a _long_ day working in the mud to brace an addition to the stables that had begun to collapse in the persistent rain. While both ended up mostly clean due to the weather, Eret knew that the feeling of grit under his fingernails and the weight of muscle strain in his shoulder was only going to get worse, not better.

 

“You gonna get that?” Astrid asked, looking just as wiped out as Eret felt. She was trying for intimidating. It had worked the first few weeks that Eret had moved into her house, but now that he’d seen her groping in the dark to make tea first thing in the morning, hair a rat’s nest and drool still on her cheek, domestic intimidation had lost its spark somewhat.

 

Of course, he wouldn’t face her in fair combat. He wasn’t trying to _die_.

 

“Ngh,” was his only answer. He was debating about just putting his head on the table and sleeping right there.

 

It had been the perfect solution, moving in with Astrid. All the Riders besides Hiccup had taken advantage of the general rebuilding to construct their own houses away from their family homes—something about having lived on an island by themselves for a few years; it was history that Eret hadn’t quite learned yet. Eret still steadfastly refused his own hut, and he wouldn’t move into Hiccup’s. It held far too many ghosts.

 

“I’d have thought maybe you’d stay with Gobber,” Hiccup had said awkwardly, trying and failing to be subtle when Astrid and Eret had brought him the idea. Although Eret hadn’t told anyone but Astrid about this strange new…something…he supposed a man as sharp as the Chief had to have some suspicions. 

 

“He might yet,” muttered Astrid. Eret elbowed her. She wasn’t wrong, though. It wasn’t good, or fair, to be in Gobber’s space all the time when this whatever-it-was between them was still new, but the distance wouldn’t be forever. He was sure of that.

 

“And why on earth do _you_ want a roommate?” Hiccup turned to Astrid.

 

She traded a glance with Eret and grinned. “Bachelor pad.” Turned out, Eret had indeed had a friend in Astrid all along. She was easier to relate to than most of the other Vikings. She had the soul of a sailor, and showed her affection grumpily and physically. She’d been shockingly easy to convince that living with Eret would be fun as all Hel.

 

And it was, for the most part. Except she wouldn’t gods-damn answer the door.

 

“I’ll wash the dishes,” Eret said desperately. They both left them in the bucket by the door until it overfilled. “Tomorrow morning.”

 

Astrid raised her head from where it was braced against her palm long enough to squint at him.

 

“And…and I’ll do them tomorrow, too?” Eret whined.

 

“Done,” Astrid said, levering out of her chair. “Tomorrow is casserole night.”

 

Eret groaned.

 

The pounding at the door grew louder, then cut off abruptly as Astrid yanked on the handle.

 

“Oh,” was all Eret heard her say.

 

“Evenin’,” came the other voice.

 

There was a moment of silence. “Are those for me?” Astrid asked, and this time, her voice was absolutely predatory. Eret sat up in alarm. Nothing good ever came from that tone.

 

“They’re for the other one ye’ve got in there, but I’d be obliged if you’d put ‘em in water so that _everyone_ can enjoy them,” Gobber said meaningfully as Eret rushed over to the door just in time to see him hand a bouquet of flowers to a smirking Astrid.

 

Eret was confused for several long seconds to see Gobber at the door with _flowers_ , of all things—until he saw the kind they were.

 

“Look, Eret, your gentleman caller came, and with blue oleander, just for you!” Astrid said sweetly.

 

Eret felt his ears grow hot and he growled at the both of them. Gobber’s smug expression kept twitching in and out of a full-fledged smile. It was hard to scowl at that, but Eret made a valiant effort.

 

“Aye, is that all you came here for?” he asked.

 

“Well, I had come to ask you out for a walk on the cliffs, but seein’ as you haven’t even thanked me for the flowers—”

 

Astrid politely turned away as Eret grabbed Gobber’s arm and dropped a swift, impulsive kiss to his cheek.

 

“Bastard,” Eret muttered.

 

Gobber’s rude hand gesture in return made him laugh.

 

Despite how exhausted he had felt minutes ago, Eret would not turn down Gobber’s offer for a walk. It wasn’t like they’d seen much less of each other since Eret took up residence with Astrid, but something about Gobber initiating moments like these made Eret want to grab onto them with both hands. This wasn’t ale in the kitchen or dirty stories around the Great Hall fire—although Eret relished those almost as much—this was just them, alone among the wild heather, tromping through scrub along the cliff edges and watching the sea crash below them.

 

Eret expected their walk to be aimless, but Gobber pointed him toward a specific point, an outcrop of rock about halfway up Berk’s central tor that was slightly dipped in the middle, attesting to its popularity over the years as a sitting spot. They didn’t speak much, just trekked up to the rock to sit and stare out over the line of the sea.

 

Eret wasn’t sure what to expect, so he sat silently, waiting. It was a good view, even though the dark had wrapped itself around them snugly, the last dregs of sun long gone. The night was clear, if frigid, and the stars above them provided plenty enough light to see the way Gobber was squaring his shoulders, holding his breath. Eret hoped, with a swoop of anxiety, that he was not being told that he had lost Gobber’s regard.

 

He almost broke and asked straight-out, but Gobber let out a whoosh of breath and finally spoke.

 

“You know…you’re not what I expected,” he began, then frowned. His eyes were fixed on the silver wire of the horizon, but Eret stared at him openly.

 

“Uh?” he finally settled on.

 

Gobber shrugged helplessly. “I mean…I never expected to find you, maybe. It’s just… when I finally figured that it’d never happen with me’n Stoick, I promised m’self that I’d never have a man in my bed at all.”

 

The sea air blew between them.

 

“Well, then,” Eret said against the shudder at the cruelty of this man thinking that he’d not have anyone to love him. “Never have another.”

 

Gobber turned to look at him then, eyes bright, jaw hard. “I’d like to court ye. Properly, if’n ye’ll allow it—knowin’ me like you do, n’all.

 

Eret floundered for a response. He wanted to shout, both in excitement and pure frustration. “Of course I’ll allow—Gobber, I’ve wanted nothing else!”

 

“Oh.” The man blinked, but he couldn’t hide the edge of a smile that had begun to curl up under his moustache. “Well, then.”

 

Almost shyly, he put his hand atop Eret’s on the rock between them, curling their fingers together. Eret felt the wind whip up from the sea nd ginned into it, breathless.

 

“Oh, aye, look now. It’s startin’,” Gobber said, pointing at the sky.

 

Eret squinted upward as directed, not sure what he was looking for. “I don’t…”

 

But the sky, dark as summer berries, was beginning to change. It started as a seam right down the middle, snaking outwards and upwards in a shimmering ribbon: lights, glowing madly like green bonfires, twisting and moving with the whims of the wind. 

 

Eret made a noise deep in his chest. “Oh…”

 

It wasn’t the first time he had seen them, but it felt like it. The lights had stretched above Drago’s ice-camp on occasion, but did nothing but cast a sickly glow across the starkest parts of their lives that they would all rather be kept hidden.

 

Eret turned to Gobber and, just briefly, wished he was a man of words so he could explain the feelings that roiled inside him at the soft, bright outline of Gobber’s smile.

 

“Vikings say,” Gobber said softly, eyes fixed on the blue and the green, “that the lights are the Valkyries come to take fallen warriors home.”

 

Eret had thought a lot about what would happen to him when he died, so far from home. “We are told that we slide into the sea.”

 

Gobber snorted. “Well then. Maybe the answer is somewhere in the middle.”

 

Eret felt Gobber’s thumb stroke the back of his hand in soft circles, and he squeezed tightly. Far in the distance, the shadow of a dragon—a Rumblehorn, maybe—cut across the dancing lights.

 

Maybe Eret wasn’t so far from home after all.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know Viking auroras would probably be red or orange more often, let me live. 
> 
> Hey! So. Hi. End of the story. I know, it’s shocking that I finished anything. It’s even more shocking since I banged this out sleep deprived and fucking wired on Timmie’s at the Toronto airport. 
> 
> Thank you for everyone who stuck with me on this horrible trip. The concept has been sitting with me since December and it wasn’t going to give me any peace until I up and finished it. It might just be you three lovelies (my three ‘S’s!) that are reading it, but nevertheless I thank you for letting me share something that is just a tad more personal than I’m used to. 
> 
> What’s next? Well, it’s pretty clear that Eret and Gobber still have a long way to go. I think that there is more in store for these two, that’s for sure. Eret is still afraid of Hiccup, for one—and can we all imagine what will happen when Gobber announces his intention to court? Scandal. Family drama. Toothless gives a shovel talk. (This last one will not happen. Probably. But imagine). Also, Skullcrusher deserves a beer. Anyway, you haven’t seen the last of these nerds. 
> 
> What’s next for me? Well, I have a short one-shot I promised someone (in order to apologize for the fact that I wrote this in the first place) and then I need to take a short, short break from HTTYD for a bit. It got away from me emotionally and I need until, like, the end of August to do something that isn’t going to result in either stress-baking or pining on other peoples’ couches. However! I want to be back by mid-September with the next chapter of FFtB. Please root for me. 
> 
> My love goes out to all of you. I didn’t know I needed this story until it was here, so you giving me a place to tell it means more than you know.
> 
> ETA: JSYK I'll be back with more content now that Hidden World happened. Seems like there is more for Eret and Gobber after all.

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes so far, if you're interested. 
> 
> First, if you care, this technically occurs in the same reality as 'Idiomatic' and 'Not For Granted, Not Forgotten'. Yes, I mean it. No, we aren't addressing it. Do you really think Eret can even conceptualize that? But I want you to know that it is happening, quietly and unobtrusively.
> 
> Second, I want to be very clear. I have worked really hard in my other pieces to instill a sense of equanimity between humans and dragons, and an understanding that both are equally intelligent, moral, and worthy. Eret, as a newcomer, does not yet think or believe that way. As such, he might be more offensive or at least dismissive toward the dragons. He calls those of indeterminate gender 'it'. He thinks of them as pets. He is an idiot. I love him. He is not HIccup. 
> 
> Finally, I sort of intended to be done with this fic and publish it in pieces after it was finished but the kindness of several recent readers, of whom i count @sarahenany among the foremost, has persuaded me to at least start publishing this even though it's not quite done yet. I'm working constantly to finish it, though, at the expense of my other works, so please do bear with me.


End file.
